COLLECTED  POEMS 


ROBERTS 


NRLF 


I 


3    3MS 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


COLLECTED  POEMS 


BY 

CHARLES  V.  H.  ROBERTS 

AUTHOR  OF  "LOUVAIN,"  "THE  SUBLIME  SACRIFICE,"  ETC 


There  is  no  greater  use  of  things  than  loving  them; 
In  flowers  of  gladness  or  in  seeds  of  grief, 
All  else  wanes  off  and  comes  to  nothingness. 
Through  all  the  sophistries  of  crafty  mind,  — 
Mould  our  shallow  pleading  as  we  may, — 
By  laws  that  are  themselves  the  breach  of  law, 
The  lowliest  thing  is  sanctified  by  Love, 
And  sheddeth  incense  over  Destiny. 

From  Louvain — Act  I 


THE  TORCH  PRESS 
NEW  YORK  AND  CEDAR  RAPIDS,  IOWA 

LONDON:     12-13,  HENRIETTA  STREET 

COVENT  GARDEN,  W.  C. 

1917 


CONTENTS 

THE  CALL  OF  LIFE  ....  n 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  COUNTRY     .  17 

THE  CALL  OF  LOVE  ....  23 

THE  CALL  OF  HAPPINESS        .        .  31 

THE  CALL  OF  SORROW      ...  37 

THE  CALL  OF  DEATH       ...  45 

THE  CALL  OF  ETERNITY  .        .  51 

HEAVEN  AND  MEMORIES    ...  57 

Poems  of  Love  and  Passion 

A  PROPOSAL 67 

THREE  WORDS    .  70 

IDYLL         .               ....  72 

TRANSCENDENT  LOVE       .       .  74 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE    ...  77 

MY  LOVE 79 

LAST  NIGHT,  BELOVED       ...  82 

COULD  I  FORGET       ....  84 

CONSUMMATION        ....  86 

CONSOLATION 88 

I  OFTEN  THINK       ....  91 

LOVE'S  APPEAL 92 


8  Collected  Poems 

Poems  of  Egypt,  etc. 

THE  SPELL  OF  EGYPT       ...  97 

DREAM  O'  NILE       ....  99 

To  THE  SPHYNX       ....  102 

FAREWELL,  O  EGYPT!       .        .        .  103 

THE  ANGEL  OF  MADEIRA  .        .        .  106 

ALGIERS 109 

War  and  Miscellaneous  Poems 

THE  SOLDIER'S  FAREWELL  .        .        .  113 

VICTOR  JOFFRE 116 

OUR  FLAG  IN  THE  DESERT       .        .  119 

LIFE'S  FALLACY 121 

WHERE  FLOWN,  O  PEACE?       .        .  122 

To  MY  FATHER        .        .        .        .  125 

TIME 127 

DEATH       .       .       .       .       .       .  128 

THE  IRISHMAN'S  DREAM    (A  Dra 
matic  Poem  in  two  Scenes)      .         131-143 


THE  CALL  OF  LIFE 


THE  CALL  OF  LIFE 

Only  one  Life  to  live!     To  do  the  best 
With  it,  to  make  the  most  of  it,  that's  the  ques 
tion! 

Life  is  music  on  a  sea  whose  waves  are  souls, 
Conceived  in  the  sweetened  darkness  between 

two  worlds. 

Ah!     Think!    Each  one  a  cosmic  part  of  this 
Great  Universe;  a  Symphony  in  aeons, 
Whose  cadent  bars  but  mix  and  mingle  to 
The  throbbing  Pulse  of  its  Creator.     Let 
Thy  Song,   great  mystery  winged  wondrous 

Life 
Proclaim  to  me  thy  secret!     To  grasp  thine 

essence, 
Play  to  my  mind  some  key  in  what  thou  art! 

The  Chord   is   struck!     An   Earth  is  lit  by 

Magic  flame 

Amid  the  conscious  vestments  of  eternity: 
And  thou  dost  teach  great  Space  to  bear, 
To  grow,  to  breathe,  to  flower,  feel  and  love; 
And  unto  Man  place  greater  Arts  in  thy  proud 

edifice. 


12  Collected  Poems 

Sequestered,  I  a  Life  unto  a  Life 
Do  speak,  unravelling  gilded  lessons 
In  the  unknown  retinue  of  mortal  Being, 
To  lead  each  swaying  spirit  back  to  the  starry 
Firmament  and  palace  Court  of  Heaven. 

To  be  alive,  I  deem  a  lavish  gift 

Self-existent,  self -completing;  and 

I  should  make  music  in  these  hours  brief, 

To  play  to  deeds  in  my  maturer  days, 

That  all  their  great  and  golden  reeds  be  mine. 

Err  not  in  the  deeper  freedom  of  the  skies, 

With  all  their  dreams  of  stars  and  moon  and 
sun, 

And  the  singing  of  a  thousand  different 
worlds. 

With  outstretched  arms  embrace  grim  Oppor 
tunity, 

And  fear  not  joy,  that  joys  might  ever  be. 

Move  with  conception  and  with  splendid 
thought, 

And  be  not  out  of  tune  with  thy  design; 

Let  future  hopes  cross  the  string  of  dead  de 
sire; 

Steer  with  great  calm  though  in  a  tempest 
tossed. 


The  Call  of  Life  13 

O  Life!  thou  art  an  awsome  mute  appeal, 
From  mystery  unto  mystery  peopling  worlds; 
A  chorus  singing  to  eternal  arches, 
Yet  each  frail  voice  a  trembling  worshipper. 

Let  Kindness  be  thy  mystic  star  and 

Drop   Pretence.     Success  cannot  be  born  in 

sham. 

Whate'er  thou  art  —  then  fearless  let  thee  be. 
Exaltation  will  thy  greatest  deeds  refute, 
As  Silence  sings  thy  praise  in  noble  harmony 
And  Self-control  —  the  Prelude  on  the  strings 
Of  power,  will  and  grand  accomplishment. 
It  were  a  priceless  life  that  can  control 
The   heart's  fierce  beat,   and  never  speak  a 

word. 

Let  go  of  Discontent.  In  all  eternal  years 
There  is  no  murmur  from  a  restless  heart. 
How  trivial  the  complainings  of  thy  harassed 

days, 

Thy  maimed  wants  and  selfish  thoughts; 
In  songs  of  praise  thy  frettings  be  undone. 
Thou  shouldst  make  me,  Life,  to  such  strange 

effect 
That  Sympathy  be  the  eyelids  of  my  mind, 


14  Collected  Poems 

Truth   the   omnipresent   iris   in   the   banquet 

lights 
And  Honour  the  pupil  on  my  soul's  eclipse. 

Make  use  of  Time.     There's  the  Godly  sting! 
The  most  reckless  spendthrift  in  the  world  is 

he 

Who  squanders  time.  What  power  can  restore 
The  moment  that  has  passed,  the  day  whose 

sun 
Has  set,  the  year  that's  numbered  with  the 

ages  gone? 

It  awes  me  when  I  think  there  was  a  time 
When  Life  and  I  were  not,  when  the  mysteries 
Of  eternity  swept  on,  and  the  sun  turned 
Into  day,  without  the  sound  or  sight  of  man. 

Hearken  unto  Death!  his  torch  ablaze, 
Yet  invisible  in  the  toils  of  mortal  passion, 
Of  sins  and  shades,  and  wasted  days  of  youth. 
Be  gemmed  with  prayer  and  kindred  prepar 
ation. 

A  sleep  unto  oblivion  —  no  form, 
A  flaming  memory,  a  ring  of  visions,  - 
Thou  art  a  ruby  in  God's  Paradise. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  COUNTRY 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

Oh,  my  Beloved!  Death  laughs  here  in  Rome: 
A  pestilent  malady  is  in  the  summer's  air. 
Keep  close  this  warning  —  of  the  grieving  mist 
And  crimson  snare  of  Death.     Thy  home 
Is  in  the  Country,  the  hills  of  melting  ame 
thyst. 

Beyond   these  festering  streets   are   fragrant 

fields 

Powdered  with  buttercups  and  shyer  things. 
Hide  thee  there,  in  the  silvery  breeze  swayed 

grass, 
Where  meadow  larks  trill  high  on  fluttering 

wings; 
Or   into    the   wood's    dark   fringe,   where    a 

cuckoo's  call 

Darts  like  an  arrow  through  the  orange  trees. 
How  lone  and  cool  his  note  —  now  faint  and 

far 
Beyond  the  chorused  humming  of  the  bees. 

Beloved!     Thou  art  my  soul's  idolatry, 
Its  dreamful  ease,  its  beauty  and  all  its  radi 
ance. 


1 8  Collected  Poems 

Leave  Rome!     Thy  heart-strings  murmur  for 

the  country, 
For  streams  that  wind  and  wave,  for  shadows 

that  glance 
And   glide   in   gardens   darkening  for   love's 

mystery. 

Thou  wert  not  born  as  other  women  are, 
But  in  swoons  conceived  by  some  immortal 

star. 

Ire  and  danger  fill  the  city's  breath, 
Each  street  a  vein  embalmed  —  a  scar 
In  anguish.     Be  not  tempted  by  the  grail  of 

Death. 

There's  no  contagion  in  the  whispering  fairy- 

ed  grass 
Where  Nature  blows  on  his  pipes  of  reeds 

with  Pan's  own  glee, 

In  love-enraptured  tune.     If  thou  wouldst  see 
The  roses  bloom  again,  the  stars  e'er  shine, 
The  foam-bells  sparkle  on  the  waves, 
Then  hasten  to  the  country  —  and  in  time; 
To  fields  of  blossomed  trees,  past  little  shrine 
Where   crumbled  stones   proclaim   a  golden 

past. 


The  Call  of  the  Country  19 

From  o'er  our  villa,  clouds  will  sail  across  the 

sky 

And  the  colour  of  the  evening  pigment  take,— 
The  green  of  lemon  trees,  and  fragrant  spice, 
Fair  olive  groves,  the  halls  of  twice 
One  thousand  years,  and  a  lily  lake,- 
A  flinging  beam,  a  twilight  hedge,  thou  and  I. 

Sun  like  a  red  pomegranate!    The  city's  eyes 

are  sulphurous. 

Go,  Beloved!     All  here  is  dolorous: 
There  pure  water  gleams,  whose  fringes  we 

will  tread; 

Pagodas  gilded,  where  faint  dreams  entice 
The  sweetest  rites  of  love  to  sanctify; 
Silver  rays  a-glimmer  o'er  our  bridal  bed, 
With  dimming  eyes  —  as  candles  clear  —  thy 

heart  to  sate 
The  yielding  spirit  action  we'll  partake. 

At  last  thou  art  amid  these  sacred  groves, 
These  woods  and  wilds  and  musical  retreats: 
No  more  the  city  and  its  pall  of  Death; 
All  there  is  dismal  as  the  Shades  beneath. 
Across  these  mellow  fields  the  Muses  sang; 
Still    revellers   danced;    great    rhapsodies   of 
Love  were  heard  — 


2O  Collected  Poems 

The  bloom  of  secret  dawn  and  sweet  repose, 
The  stream's  clear  flow,  the  call  of  mating 
bird. 

We  accept  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  ground, 
And  the  vision  of  a  sunset-saffroned  sea. 
Our  lives  shall  be  the  history  of  a  rose, 
Each  day  a  petal  in  a  sweeter  bliss; 
And  when  like  leaves,  they  turn  to  braken 

gold- 
Where  waves  the  grass  and  prostrate  legions 

old- 
No  name  but  thine  shall  on  these  barks  be 

found, 
To  glad  the  earth  and  gild  the  evening  sky. 

Breathe  on  my  burning  lips  thy  softest  wrords, 
Thy  love  into  my  soul  and  every  vital  part, 
Thy  thoughts,  thy  melody  and  all  thy  joy, 
Until  thou  hast  assuaged  my  yearning  heart. 
Thus  we,   Beloved  —  so  having  been  —  shall 

never  cease, 
But  only  wander  —  wander  to  eternal  peace. 


THE  CALL  OF  LOVE 


THE  CALL  OF  LOVE 

O  Immortal  Love!  The  centuries 
Have  confessed  thy  powers  and  art  to  please, 
Yet  still  thou  guardest  all  thy  mystery. 
Command  is  writ  upon  thy  brow  —  the  free 
Of  Earth  e'er  have  yielded  to  thy  sway. 

Time  has  not  bent  thee  to  the  ground, 
Aged  thy  face  or  deafed  thine  ears  to  sound; 
There's  enraptured  secret  glitter  in  thine  eyes, 
And  in  thy  voice,  an  outflung  solo  from  the 

skies, 
An  earth-lyre  for  Nature's  Mastery. 

Nor  rocks,  nor  caves  can  from  thy  presence 

hide; 

No  soul  from  thee  can  surged  sea  divide; 
From  dawn  thy  bridal  veil  fills  all  man's  sight, 
And  steels   the  thews  of  youth   to   deeds  of 

might. 
Thou  art  Queen  Beauty,  in  Life's  Dynasty. 

Deep  through  Life,  emotion  sheds  thy  beams, 
Like    stars    that    twinkle    in    the    spring-fed 
streams. 


24  Collected  Poems 

Thy  waving  hair  as  years,  upon  the  surface 

blows ; 

Thy  cheeks  reflect  the  lily,  then  the  rose, 
Each  petal  beating  in  some  human  heart. 

Thou  dost  weave  a  magic  on  the  waiting  air, 
Through  twilights,  on  and  on,  enchanting  free. 
Leaf-dance  and  petal-gleam  thine  errants  see; 
Hear  woodland  voices,  soft  and  fair, 
And  the  vaster  fairy  footsteps  of  the  night. 

Who  can  glimpse  thy  scheme,  thy  jewelled 

visage, 

For  Philosophy  and  Science  are  but  mirage 
That  oppose  their  own  great  doctrines.     Can 

a  storm 

Stir  the  petals  of  a  rose,  or  tempest  warm 
The  twilight  into  day  before  the  passage  of 

the  night? 

Then  Love,  thou  hast  a  savage  courage  and 
Deliberate  force,  that  venture  and  expand 
The  whirl-winds  of  fierce  Nature's  great  de 
sires. 

Storm  or  heights,  the  flaming  sun  or  fires 
Of  Hell,  control  not  thy  spirit's  soaring  might. 

Oft  thou  art  wild,  mad  and  irridescent 


The  Call  of  Love  2$ 

In  thine  ills  —  then  mist-veiled,  dim  and  con 
valescent, 

Dream-drowsy  in  thy  languor  and  thy  mys 
tery; 

Voluptuous  in  spice-scents,  thy  pulses  beat 
fiercely; 

Thine  opal  heart  leaps  —  in  sunset  crimsoning. 

0  rapturous  one,  thou  art  the  keeper  of  the 
keys 

To  Paradise.  Guard  well  the  gates  —  lest  on 
my  knees 

1  shall  demand  they  be  unlocked  wide 
Open  —  then  engulfed  by  stern  Passion's  tide, 
A  pagan  god  inhaling  rare  incense. 

Thou  dost  make  souls  flash  together  in 
A  flame  of  new-found  joy,  and  all  within 
Thy  wondrous  unseen  presence.     A  swoon 
ing  perfume 

O'er  the  quietest  sleepers  in  the  world  con 
sumes 
To  vibrant  ecstasies  —  hitherto  unknown. 

Then  Love,  hold  high  thy  chalice  lest  I  quaff 
Too  deep,  lured  by  the  perfume  of  thy  wine; 
For  the  fairest  liquor  yields  its  spurious  dregs, 


26  Collected  Poems 

That  feed  the  mortal  and  choke  the  soul  di 
vine, 
The  fountain  of  our  hopes  and  destinies. 

One  cannot  suffer  who  has  never  loved, 
Nor  can  he  love  who  has  not  sorrow  known. 
Dream  worlds  and  all  our  many  pains  are 

moved 

Beneath  thy  wings,  cherished  pathways  shown ; 
Thy  half-veiled  star  keeps  vigil  over  us. 

Thou  art  a  Child,  a  Mother,  Husband,  Wife. 
Oh!  to  solve  the  single  secret  of  thy  life's 
Philosophy,  thy  noble  madness,  thy  honeyed 

drugs, 

Thy  Memory  and  Truth  that  hugs 
Each  soul  to  the  very  arms  of  grim-robed 

Death! 

Thou  art  remembered  from  the  other  worlds; 
Perhaps  been  died  for  —  or  by  History  hurled 
Through  many  pains,  laments  and  secret  joys: 
But  Time,  nor  Change,  nor  fiery  Fate  de 
stroys  — 

Thou      art     conscious      always  —  quick'ning 
through  eternity. 


The  Call  of  Love  27 

Thou  art  a  dream  to  deeds  of  man's  eternal 
days, 

Of  passions  peerless,  and  of  half-glimpsed 
ways 

To  happiness.     Thy  reeds  of  joy  are  mine 

Which  pipe  in  flame  and  make  thee  —  near- 
divine. 

O  sequestered  Face  —  Love's  deathless  coun 
tenance! 


THE  CALL  OF  HAPPINESS 


THE  CALL  OF  HAPPINESS 

0  Happiness!  thy  vision  comes  to  me 
In  kisses  of  Egyptian  lavender; 
Sung  by  mermaids  on  a  silver  sea, 

In  verses  of  the  moon  so  calm  and  tender. 

No  one  can  doubt  thy  presence  and  thy  mean 
ing, 

Resounding  silken-smooth  and  blissful-teem 
ing 

O'er  the  world  —  joy-waves  from  pain  re 
deeming. 

1  have  met  thee  far  away  —  wild  sails  of  long 
Ago.     Thy  masts  were  furled  with  creeds  un 
true, 

When  Grecian  gods,  the  Muses,  and  thy  wor 
shippers  in  song 

Dreamed  naught  lay  there  beyond  eternal 
blue. 

Prayer  was  then,  in  gold  and  silver  wrought, 

Thy  heaven  but  an  incense-stream  of  pleasure 
bought 

In  clouded  wine,  —  sold  in  sensuous  thought. 


32  Collected  Poems 

But  thou  hast  sacked  the  ages  of  their  madness, 
And  breathed   beyond  the  tryst  of  heathen 

stars. 

From  Bethlehem  thy  messengers  bring  glad 
ness- 
Great  tidings  o'er  this  bitter  world  of  ours. 
Thou  speakest  then  in  strongest  jubilation, 
Thy  joys  fulfilled  to  highest  consecration; 
Thy  one  big  tear  —  the  Cross  of  Expiation. 

O  Happiness,  thou  hast  no  nobler  gem  than 

prayer, 

That  silent  meditation  of  the  soul, 
When  real  things  touch  us  vividly,  and  where 
Thy  rich  accords  and  richest  current  roll 
Outward  to  the  shore  of  Paradise. 
There,  wafts  no  water  but  knows  thine  eyes, 
Where   sundered    stars   breathe   only   in   thy 

sighs. 

Thou  art  purest  in  the  little  child, 
Caressing  lovingly  each  new-bought  toy; 
Frail,  floating  innocence,  yet  wild 
In  laughter,  song,  merry-play  and  joy. 
O  to  be  a  child  again!  —  the  Fairy  Tales, 
Old  Santa  Claus  —  those  kindergarten  days, 
With  chant  from  little  primer  —  the  dreams 
of  tiny  sails! 


The  Call  of  Happiness  33 

Thou  art  a  limpid  spirit  on  our  wedding  day, 
To  vanish  with  us  on  the  wings  of  love. 
That    f ai rest    flowering  —  Motherhood  —  thy 

way 

That  brings  an  angel  for  the  God  above. 
Oh!  grow  thou  then,  amid  the  garden  of  our 

joys, 
Make  it  sweet  and  holy  for  our  children's 

plays, 
Each  tree  and  bower  —  each  little  petal,  be 

their  toys. 

Be  on  our  death-bed,  Happiness,  where  the 

shadows  lie; 
And  Faith  becomes  still  more  the  garment  of 

our  soul. 

Weave  gently  the  ending  of  our  life,  and  try 
To  comfort  us  in  verses  on  the  Scroll 
That  make  us  feel  thy  grandest  prize  is  near. 
Then  thy  ties,  thy  friendship,  peace,  —  God 

Himself, 
Will  welcome  us  unto  thy  final  sphere. 


THE  CALL  OF  SORROW 

A  Poem  of  Destiny 


THE  CALL  OF  SORROW 

Beloved!  In  thine  adversity  there  is 

Not  one  will  call  thee  friend.     When  mortal 

heart 

Beats  outward  for  the  healing  touch,  the  little 
Things  for  its  easing  never  come.     Sorrow 
Is  an  Exile,  which  hath  no  portion  in  the  time 
And  tale  and  scorching  brain  of  selfishness. 

If  thou  hast  webs  of  laughter  and  dangling 
gold, 

Or  credit  on  the  rich  man's  scroll  writ  deep, 

And  in  thy  house  a  sense  of  feasts  and  affecta 
tion 

Unconfessed,  —  then  thou  hast  many  friends; 

Thy  life  goes  on  with  splendid  tendence; 

Thou  art  a  shepherdess  in  the  golden  lights. 

But  a  sudden  pause  in  entertainment,  its  glows 
And  sighs  and  wines  and  visions  delicate; 
Or  hearken  with   thy  gifts   and   jewels   and 

favorite 
Robes,  dazzling  the  longest  corridors ; 


38  Collected  Poems 

Then  thou  shalt  be  with  less  friends,  —  lin 
gering 
In  the  sunlight,  but  each  remembering. 

Let  Sorrow  come,  —  the  doorway  of  thy  soul 
Flung  open  to  the  storm  of  life's  great  pain, — 
Then  thou  must  win  another  friend; 
Mad  and  knowing  all,  thy  lords  of  pleasure 
Flash  and  elsewhere  seek;  thou  art  solitary, 
Untended,  comfortless,  and  yet  —  not  ended. 

O  Spirit  of  Sorrow!  with  such  majestic  cer 
tainty 

Dost  thou  come  in  on  all  things  human; 
Thine  august  angel  before  the  compact  of 
Our  life  was  signed,  breathed  far  off  in  star- 
dust: 

Then  our  spirits  quickened  by  the  Word 
Of  God,  conceived  and  met  thee.    For  a  time 
We,  clothed  in  mortal  raiment,  swoon  to  thy 
Bemoaning  reeds  and  deepest  chords  of  mis 
ery. 

Beloved,  thy  stirring  bosom  is  besieged  with 

grief, 

Sad  sea-horizons  of  sorrow  mystical, 
With  wounds  no  human  hand  can  ever  close, 
Until  thy  soul  beyond  the  ocean,  weary,  rests. 


The  Call  of  Sorrow  39 

Thy  tear,  —  each  tear  a  solitaire,  a  pearl 
That  vainly  shimmers  on  the  crimson  reef 
Of  pain,  —  for  a  setting  in  the  ring  of  Sym 
pathy! 

Lose  Health,  —  thy  gold  will  twine  in  loneli 
ness; 
Thy  most  cherished  arms  that  weaved  about 

thy  strength, 

In  weakness  waver;  petals  o'er-blown  fly 
On  the  wind  away  to  stronger  stems.     If  thou 
Art  ill,  ill  unto  death,  a  mother's  love 
Alone  will  shine,  —  that  unadorned,  profound, 
Unselfish  love.     The  deeper  falls  the  darkness 
Of  thy  life,  the  brighter  is  its  calm 
Enduring  warmth.     Forever  half  in  lightning 
And  in  gloom,  the  maternal  star  in  brilliance 
Unafraid  grows  stronger  in  the  firmament  of 
Sorrow. 

Ah!    If  we  could  be  the  things  we  are, 
And  not  the  things  \ve  have!     Our  chattels, 
Gold,  and  songs  are  in  themselves  a  nothing 
ness, 

A  glow  that  has  a  wasting  flame,  and  yet 
Without,  we  are  but  ashes,  —  living  limbs, 
Wordless,  handless,  helpless,  friendless, 
Groping  for  the  spirit  of  Companionship. 


40  Collected  Poems 

Oft  Sorrow,   art  thou  Victory,   crowned  in 

poverty, 

In  fallen  fortunes  and  the  emptiness  of  aid; 
A  tale  of  bitterness  on  barren  stone, 
Those  pangs  of  pain  and  utter  deprivation, 
The  flesh  in  sighs  of  jealousy  composed; 
To  reach  and  grasp  and  suffer  for  the  joys 
Of  life,  —  those  wistful,  dreamful  joys  of  life 
Attained  by  luxury  only.     Feebly,  step 
By  step,  the  roaming  of  these  starving  souls 
Casts  a  shadow  for  a  moment;  then 
Unassuaged  they  soar  away  unto  Oblivion. 

O  Talisman  of  Sorrow,  winged  through  aeons 
From  the  thunder  of  a  Self-existent 
Mind!  —  groan  and  cry  in  the  anguish 
Of  the  angels  mutinied;  in  human  bodies 
Broken,  torn  and  mangled  on  the  arenas 
Of  Roman  persecution;  in  the  twilight  of  bat 
tle  fields, 

Woman's  shame  and  man's  hypocrisy, 
Unpraised  achievement,  kindred  disappoint 
ment, 
Memoried  achings,  bitter  tragic  losses. 

With  thine  august  mournful  smile,  what  art 
Thou  Sorrow,  —  thy  sunset  strangely  pathetic 


o'er 


The  Call  of  Sorrow  41 

The  world's  most  splendid  lives;  thy  grief, 

regret, 
The  vague   centennials   of   thy  shame?     To 

saint 

And  sin  alike,  thou  dost  cohere, 
Though  weary  is  the  heart  within  thy  breast. 
Oh!     Why  does  thy  bleeding  compact  cover 

all? 


THE  CALL  OF  DEATH 


THE  CALL  OF  DEATH 

Last  of  myself  —  I  thought  how  hard  to  die; 
To  pass  without  a  tear  into  the  stars; 
To  leave  this  fiery  glory-colored  world  of  ours, 
And  thy  dear  face;  the  doubt  and  dreadful 

fear 
When  thrust  out  thence,  to  go  I  know  not 

where. 

At  times  in  truth,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I, 
Beloved,  was  wrought  before  the  moon  or  sun, 
Before    the    fallen    angels,    darkness,    light, 

creation; 
Oh!  God,  where  was  my  soul,  where  did  this 

body  lie 

Before  the  cycles  of  eternity  were  run; 
The  stars  turned  in  their  course  without  the 

sight  of  man? 

Beloved,  come  nearer.     I  am  conscious  still  - 
Cold    though    I    feel  —  passing,    passing   on. 

Each  chill 

Of  life  I  have,  breathes  only  on  the  sight 
Of  thee;  for  see  —  our  love's  fire  has  lit 
The  flame  of  younger  immortalities. 


46  Collected  Poems 

Tell  me,  when  first  thy  soul  confessed  this 
love? 

No!  —  not  through  thy  tears — I  can  feel 
above 

My  heart,  thy  blood  run  to  thy  finger  ends. 

Be  not  worn  with  grief  or  blasted  by  despair; 

If  thou  wouldst  love  me  longer  —  wed  mem 
ory  to  prayer, 

The  holy  whispers  of  unsundered  souls. 

Last  of  myself,  I  thought  how  hard  to  die,- 
Anguish  in  my  anguish,  through  the  gulf  of 

space, 
Perhaps  the  fires  of  Hell  —  a  kindred  serpent 

face. 

Soul  naked  now,  in  fears  and  sorrows  all 
The  actions  of  my  life  before  me  lie. 
Each  past  spoke  angry  word,  a  panic  call 
In  black-veiled  voices  of  the  great  Unknown, 
A-flutter  o'er  my  head  in  horror  shown. 

How  can  I  leave  these  painted  toys  of  earth, 
The  memory  of  thy  tears  and  sweetest  mirth? 
Ah,  come!  Thy  lips  to  kiss  —  thy  heart  to 

love, 

Thine  eyes  to  see!     So  near  the  mystic  glow 
Of  Death  —  to  feel  is  better  than  to  know 


The  Call  of  Death  47 

Sweet  touches,  interchange,  the  sound  of  song, 
In  swaying  languors  unrestrained. 
Come!  e'er  I'm  robed  in  my  immortal  shape. 
Away  my  dreams  of  mystery  in  the  throng 
Of  yonder  stars!  Away  these  tears  that  drip 

and  make 
My  soul  coward,  afraid  to  sate  thy  fount  of 

love, 
Fear-dumb  by  the  nearness  of  oblivion! 

Thou  couldst  reconcile  the  farthest  planets, 
Reweave  the  crumbling  halls  and  fill  the  gap 

with  stones, 

Breathe  into  the  city's  dead  or  broken  bones 
Splendid  newer  lives  —  ne'er  wrecked  by  sea 

or  wind. 

Perhaps  to-night  will  come  Chaos  in  heaven, 
Which  Perpetual  Happiness  cannot  assuage; 
As  I  shall  grow  and  grieve  and  call  the  past 
Along  the  way  that  leadeth  back  to  thee, 
Until  thy  name  is  gilded  on  the  Page. 

I'll  fondly  seek  thee  with  immortal  eyes, 
Out  o'er  the  azure  distance  pure  with  prayer, 
The  song  of  sleep  —  between  thy  soul  and 
mine. 


48  Collected  Poems 

Moonbeams  will  kiss  thy  garden  hedge,  —  a 

hue 

In  silver  visions,  that  the  pagans  knew; 
And  clouds  made  of  my  tears  will  rain  my 

sighs 

Upon  thy  cheeks  and  lips  and  turn  thy  breasts 
To    lilies.     At   times    feel    thee   my   passing 

breath, 
A  quivering  spirit  crossed  with  bars  of  gold 

and  crests, — 
A  joy,  a  pain,  a  prayer  —  united  in  eternity. 

On,  Death!     Why  do  I  fear  thy  doom  and 

dazzle, 

Thy  thunder-scar  —  thy  withered  cheek? 
Where'er  I  go,  I  was  ever  bound  to  go, — 
My  soul,  at  least,  a  gem  in  this  decaying  heap. 
Adieu  —  my  love,  my  life.     Behold!     I  die! 
Once  and  no  more  —  Ah!  make  no  cry! 


THE  CALL  OF  ETERNITY 


THE  CALL  OF  ETERNITY 

Beloved,  thou  shalt  be  with  me  to-night 

In  Paradise!  upon  an  emerald  hill 

Paling  the  golden  stars.     Long  have  I  wait- 

ed, 
A  tale  twixt  earth  and  heaven;  watched  in 

patience, 

Love,  ambition,  and  in  prayer.     Lonely 
Years  upon  my  soul  conjured  the  perished 
Days  of  earth,  sculptured  Time  in  the  slowest 
Clay  of  History;  eternal  yearning 
Answered  only  by  the  sighs  of  stars. 

Be  brave,   Beloved,   for  soon  thy  pain  shall 

pass, 

Bitter  agony  in  azure  ending. 
My  spirit's  close;  the  shadows  lengthen;  the 

life 

Beyond  —  its  puzzle  now  lies  near. 
High  on  the  pinnacle  hang  our  destinies; 
And  for  the  ages  that  come  after, 
We'll  not  sigh.     Be  brave!     Eternal  joy 
Is  safe  from  Death.     Fear  not  these  walled 

silences; 


52  Collected  Poems 

But  weave  the  tapestries  and  silks  of  heaven. 
Be  not  sorrowed  by  the  griefs  of  those  now 

left 

Behind.     Sweet  is  the  oblivion  of  sleep, 
But  sweeter  far  —  the  sleep  beyond  oblivion. 

Then  the  rumour  of  thine  illness  cast 
Its  death-lamp  ray  into  eternity; 
Shed  its  argent  irony  as  in 
The  centuries  before,  the  sprites  of  Pharaohs 
Gleaned  from  the  perished  cities  of  the  Nile. 
The  Euphrates  dangled  like  a  thread  of  gold 
Across  the  plains  of  sand,  as  Babylon  Kings 
Spilled  wine  from  their  holy  cups  to  gods 
Of  brass,  of  bronze,  of  wood  and  stone,  until 
That  magic  writing  on  the  plaster  of  the  wall. 

I  was  confused  —  strangely  sad,  yet  joyful 

'Mid  our  colonnades  of  marble  echoing 

With  discussions  of  diviner  things. 

A  moment's  wound  of  piteousness  —  then 

I  dreamed  afar  to  earth.     A  song  of  day-dawn 

Sending  words,  a  great  phantasmal  pageant 

Passed  upon  my  spirit  solitude: 

The  burden  of  long-waiting  years  was  lifting 

From  my  soul.     Thy  mystic  breathing  comes! 


The   Call  of  Eternity  53 

Thy  presence  soon  will  be  another  Sphere 
In  Space;  a  gem  rising  in  silence 
From  star  to  star;  lose  sense  and  form; 
A  name  to  mingle  in  eternity, 
Up-wrapped  our  souls  together  in  one  flame. 
We'll  make  merry  in  the  jests  of  constellations, 
Across  the  golden  sands,  and  timeless  shore; 
Nor  count  the  passing  hours  save  to  compute 
How  they  make  a  closer  oneness  of  us  twain. 

Thou  shalt  be  a  princess  in  a  pearled 
City,  entertained  by  angels  unawares: 
Kings  and  queens  will  pay  thee  homage 
From  the  dynasties  of  Babylon  to  Napoleon. 
Thou  shalt  be  mine  Empress,  o'er  whose  great 
Domain  thy  softened  whispers  thunder  in  the 

sky. 

Forever  now  thou  art  to  me  commended: 
This  body  feels  thy  rays  last  touch,  - 
Thy  soul  recessed  —  thine  eyes,  dim  urns  of 

sleep. 

Beloved,  I  have  died  and  gazing  back  at  life 
Know  whereof  I  speak.     I  cannot,  dare  not 
Tell  thee  more.     Later,  —  within 
This  very  house  to-night  —  some  kindly  friend 


54  Collected  Poems 

Will  kiss  thy  brow,  deck  thee  with  ornaments, 
Incense,  burning  candles,  and  the  sweetness  of 
Scattered  flowers.     Thou  wilt  be  a  memory 
Of  beauty.     They  will  discuss  the  sallies  of 

thy  wit 

And  past  accomplishments.  But  from  me  thou 
Shalt  be  learning  thy  spirit's  grandest  consum 
mation. 


HEAVEN  AND  MEMORIES 


HEAVEN  AND  MEMORIES 

Welcome,  my  Beloved,  to  Paradise  !- 
The  portal  ending  thy  sad  mortal  span; 
Past  griefs  and  shadows,  all  thy  wanderings, 
Deep  buried  in  Divine  Immensity. 
Thy  shining  eyes  and  once  remembered  smile 
Waft   mystic   winds   and   seething  sprays   of 

souls, - 

The  murmuring  of  our  Love's  Oblivion 
Flung  o'er  the  arches  of  eternity. 

Wan  wreaths  evoke  the  labyrinths  of  spirits' 
Deepest  reaches.     My  lips,  with  God's,  im 
press 

A  holy  kiss  upon  thy  brow  —  communion 
Of  thy  soul  with  mine:  Benediction  touches 

us  twain - 
The   apparelling   of   phantoms  —  no   passage 

here 
But  those  of  angels,  consecrated  to  their  God. 

At  thy  death  last  night,  Beloved,  my  presence 
watched 

Aside  thy  bed.  Clasped  thee  close,  much  lov 
ing,— 


58  Collected  Poems 

More,  so  much  more  than  thou  knewest.     I 
Now  glimpsed  along  thy  wall's  empaling  grief 
Soft  footsteps  —  the  heart-aches  of  thy  friends 

below. 
This  very  Heaven  rocks  in  recollection! 

I  kissed  thy  fevered  brow  and  lilied  cheeks. 
Afar  the  grieving  stars  dripped  tears,  tender 
Lights  came  down  to  bear  thy  soul  away. 
"Does    she    move,    or    breathe?"    "Speak  — 

Speak!" 

The  frailty  of  thy  life,  in  distance  fading, 
An  inward  victory  by  an  outward  loss.      t 
Sleeping,  thou  wert  austerely  beautiful 
And  yet  sublimely  sad,  —  thy  blood  in  crimson 
Passioning  pale  and  fearful  of  eternity. 

Hark!     the     angels'     greeting,  —  half -veiled 

blended 

Cadences  to  Immortality, 
Hidden  choristers'  divinist  prayer, 
A  soul's  soft  winding  clue  of  melody! 
This  strange  device  of  music  —  magic  in 
The  touch  of  God  —  upbears  us  in  this  time 
less 
Tide,  where  ages  are  but  strains  that  mingle 


Heaven  and  Memories  59 

In  eternal  waves  and  fade  in  stresses, 
On  the  triads  of  the  Infinite. 

My  soul's  a  dwelling  now  for  memory, 
Sweet  even  in  the  palace  door  of  Heaven. 
What  meshes  have  I  woven  for  thy  spirit? 
Weaved  perhaps  beneath  a  younger  sun, 
Weaved   in   truth   before   that  sun  was   ever 

wrought 

From  off  the  Blazing  Fabric  of  yon  Deity! 
Thine  eyes  were  fountains  in  their  cradle  days, 
To  break  the  drought  of  sombre  Destiny. 
Scarce  were  our  souls  conceived  before  the 

stars, 
Than  Heaven  was  our  final  trysting  place. 

Beloved,  thou  art  an  inspiration,  with 

Immortal  hands  decked  in  rubies  which 

The  fiercest  suns  could  woo.     Unimpassioned 

Beauty  in  a  royal  flame,  thy  life 

Is  ever  in  its  mirthful  infancy 

And  still  in  thought  supreme.     E'er  changing 

visions 

Pass,  laughing  strangely,  but  so  pure  in  mood. 
Through  groves  of  jeweled  nets,  o'erhang  the 

ripened 
Counsels  of  felicity  —  frail 


60  Collected  Poems 

But  fadeless  tender  leaflets  never  drooping, — 
Plastic  spirits  in  immortal  texture,  - 
An  iridescent,  opal,  mystic,  dreamful  dream 
ing; 

All  joy,  all  reticence  and  prayer  enact 
And  chant  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity. 

My  snow-white  swan  upon  an  azure  river, 
In  languors  thou  shalt  ever  be  caressed,  - 
A  silken  stream  through  an  emerald  vale, 
Brightly  vast,  —  shadows  quivering  to 
The  falls  of  sleep.     Thou  hast  the  ecstasy 
Of  seeking,  on  the  flow  of  Perfect  Happiness 

attained, 

Tranquil  intermissions  in  repose, 
Foam-bells  teeming  o'er  eternal  Play. 

Still,  still  I  peer  in  wistful  membrances, 
O'er  tree-tops  'neath  the  stars  —  to  mortals' 

earth. 

Thy  face,  thy  human  voice,  breath  as  tiny 
Flakes  of  snow,  wonder-filled  in  merriment! 
Can'st  thou  not  remember  from  afar 
A  little  girl  all  shaking  down  her  curls; 
The  garden  of  thy  country-side,  where  the  first 
Dream  petals  of  our  love  broke  flower;  whis 
pers, 


Heaven  and  Memories  61 

The  secret  kiss,  the  summer's  afternoon, 
The  old  pergola  twined  in  climbing  rose, 
Thy  tender  arms  around  my  shoulders  thrown ; 
Farewells  repeated  o'er  and  o'er;  rippling 
Sounds,  the  evening  green,  with  sweeter  sweet 
ness 

In  the  air,  our  senses'  ecstasy, 
The  caressive  touches  of  thy  hands  —  a  fire 
Unto  thy  finger  tips  —  thy  soul  into  my  soul? 

'Twas  a  wondrous  tale  of  wondrous  love! 
Ah!    Even  here  thy  spirit  eyes  are  tremulous 
In  tears.     I  dreamed  of  Allah's  Paradise, 
Stripped   bare   thy   beating   heart   to   flower 

there. 

No,  No !  Thou  need'st  not  worry  lest  I  say  it  - 
Though  memory  is  oft  the  greatest  ritual 
Of  enduring  joy.     A  master-mistress 
Of  a  bliss  that's  past,  reflecting  makes 
Eternal  bliss  that's  now.     As  we  are  minded 
So  our  lives  have  been  —  erstwhile  Beloved, 
Could  we  be  here  in  Paradise?     Were  this 
Profane  that  I  recall  it  all  —  unroll 
In  Heaven  such  tapestries  of  human  love? 

'Twere  useless  dear  to  try  and  break  the  spell. 
I  think  these  very  memories  are  parts 


62  Collected  Poems 

Of  that  great  Spark  Divine,  the  ashes  of 
The  past  on  incense-pyres  of  Happiness, 
Urns  of  sweetest  bliss  from  other  worlds, 
Cinders  into  beauty  from  the  grave 
Blown  on  breezes  to  eternity, 
Soft-mysticism  —  amber  glow  of  moonlight 
Rich  with  shadows  of  an  Orient  night. 

Beloved,  adoring  sadness  in  thy  melodies, 
Still  all  compensative  was  their  tenderness. 
In  jewelled  draperies  around  thee,  bending 

low, 

Thy  beauty  yielded  beauty  to  the  Dawn. 
Dipped  in  passion  as  the  rose,  thy  form, 
Its  perfume  then  was  but  the  incense  of  thy 

soul. 

These  Immortal  Tides  are  long  enough  to  sing 
And  glow  around  the  chalice  of  a  perfect  hour. 
In  sweetest  liquor  of  the  "times  that  were" 
Accept  a  drop  from  o'er  a  crimson  rim 
The  Sacrament  was  vowed  upon  His  shrine. 

Our  wedding  day!  —  October  morn  —  the  an 
cient 

Church  with  vines  on  stones  a-creeping  —  ver 
dant 

Trees,  scattered  blossoms  —  lullabies 


Heaven  and  Memories  63 

Of  mating  birds!     Oh!  I  thought,  my  bride, 

that  noon 

I  walked  the  golden  highway  of  the  stars: 
My  soul  dreamed  naught  could  be  —  as  such  is 

here  to-day. 

Come!  kneel.  Beloved,  in  one  appeal,  though 

succor 

Is  not  needed  or  denied;  nor  loss 
Of  one  another's  gain  —  cradled  in 
Divine  Equality.     A  garden's  'round 
Our  souls  for  whispering  to  Him  —  no  words 
Of  pleading  here  to  solve  prayer's  mystery. 

Eternal  magic  in  eternal  air, 
Eternal  music  o'er  eternal  prayer! 
Closer  spirits,  closer  angels,  closer 
Souls  —  still  closer,  thee,  Beloved!     Majestic 
Heaven!  fill  our  beings,  thy  floods  in  solemn 
Harmony  uplift  us  to  thy  realms 
Untrod,  —  thence  thy  sun-rays  whirl  us  to 
The  cloud,  where  'throned  in  His  Omnipo 
tence  sits  God! 


POEMS  OF  LOVE  AND  PASSION 


A  PROPOSAL 

Beloved,    I    love    thee!     With    such    words 

wouldst  thou 
Have    further   pleading?     Thou   canst   o'er- 

hear  the  beating 

Of  my  heart.     Take  it,  and  give  me  in 
Exchange  thy  soul!     The  unexpected  mov- 

ings 

Of  our  lives  should  henceforth  be  together. 
Be  my  wedded  wife:  put  in  my  arms 
What  Fate  decreed  mine  own,  —  calm  days 

of  peace, 

And  sweetest  ecstasies,  one  heart,  one  honour. 
Death  through  cycles  in  one  day  elapse; 
Through    centuries    our   souls    together   soar 

away. 

Yet  it  seems,  Beloved,  we've  loved  before: 
Oh!    canst   thou    not    remember  —  a    sort   of 

palace 

Casement,  nine  hundred  and  a  thousand  years 
Ago?     The  little  hill  of  Calvary  loomed 


68  Collected  Poems 

Three  crosses  'gainst  the  sky.     Perhaps  we 

met, 

Even  when  the  Spirit  of  God  breathed  life 
Into  a  planet,  and  the  moon  first  dimmed 
In  cold  tranquility  the  day,  the  wild  stars 
Later  bathed  the  blacker  harmony  of  night. 

Canst  thou  feel  the  memoried  ache  of  my 
Embraces  —  perhaps  some  Prince  of  Egypt  I, 
Like  those  strange  men  portrayed  in  histories, 
Or  in  the  pictures  hanging  here  upon  the  wall? 
Thou  sat  upon  a  stately  bed,  thy  jewels 
A-shiver  as  pearls  upon  the  shallow 
Reefs  beneath  the  glitter  of  the  rising  sun. 

We  might  recall  old  Socrates,  wisdom, 
Joy  and  pleasure,  aeons  drunk  with  Eastern 
Passion,   pompous  temples,   doors  of  beaten 

gold, 
An  Alexandrian  sky  blinking  with  a  million 

eyes. 

Ah!  even  in  that  day,  thy  spirit  hungered; 
But  all  without  the  everlasting  Bread  of  Life. 

But  whether  or  no,  thou  didst  caress  the  kings 
Of  distant  stars,  before  this  Earth  was  mould 
ed 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  69 

Into  Space;  or  thou  wert  cherished  by 

A  Babylon  prince  in  the  derision  of 

A  heathen  dawn,  I  know  now,  that  thou  art 

mine! 
In  life,  in  love,  in  soul,  unto  Eternity! 


THREE  WORDS 

Beloved!   I  love  thee!  Ah,  what  an  essay  in 
Three  words  —  writ  down  in  fire  from  off  a 

golden 

Quill,  —  a  sentence  stole  from  out  the  rifled 
Treasury  of  my  soul.     No  magic  art 
E'er  yields  a  cure  for  love  —  no  stone-age 
Monuments  outlive  the  masonry 
That  thou  dost  weave  about  my  heart. 
Thou  shalt  be  my  day-dawn  in  eternity, 
My    sunrise    'round    the    sapphire    cup    of 

Heaven. 

I  feel  thine  auburn  hair  and  kiss  thy  lilied 
Cheek,  whose  whiteness  breaks  to  rose.     Be 
loved, 

The  fields  of  life  are  sprinkled  for  our  joy. 
I  understand  the  pulse  from  o'er  thy  secret 

soul; 

I  learn  the  languors  of  thine  unseen  sea; 
No  real  world  anywhere  but  in  thine  arms, 
Where  earth  becomes  a  ruby  in  Love's  crown, 
And  from  its  setting  leaps  into  a  flame. 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  71 

Thy  voice  is  magical  —  each  word  a  vision 
Versed  in  stanzas  of  divinest  symmetry. 
Thine  eyes  —  two  dynasties  of  wondrous  pow 
er- 
Urns  oft-times  perhaps  in  quiet  slumber- 
Great  gems  as  suns  upon  the  breast  of  day. 

Behold!  the  galleons  of  our  love!  Last 
night!- 

Shall  I  forget  it  e'er  I  die  —  those  dreams 

Of  mine,  which  now  have  all  come  true?  A 
chamber 

Rich  in  tapestries  as  Arabs  spin, 

Perfumed  with  fragrance  of  an  Orient  bloom! 

A  maze  and  glow  and  mystic  quivering, 

A  dreamful  joy  in  sweeter  raptures  ending! 

Thou  there,  Beloved  —  in  all  supreme  sur 
render, 

Loose  thy  hair  in  soft  profusion  hanging, 

One  sleeping  wave  of  bliss  to  oceans  waken 
ing, - 

Three  words  —  upon  each  crest  of  passion 
burning! 


IDYLL 

Sweet  hour  of  Night,  within  thy  solitude - 
Thy  wandering  sleep  and  silent  course  ad 
vanced 

In  realms  occult  —  and  overruling  power, 
I  met  a  woman,  angel  pure  and  like 
A  dove  in  tint  and  melody,  her  wings 
Unfolded  on  nocturnal  sands  —  through  air 

allured 
To  solitary  caves  and  darker  woods. 

We  strolled  a-near  a  cool  rillet  —  background 

A  garden  kiosk  canopied  in  flowers, 

'Twixt  grottoes  dimly  glittering  with  a  shelly 

floor. 
The  Night's  eclipse  of  phantoms,  dreams,  and 

rest 

Was  stirred  and  lit  in  mystic  parts  by  touch 
Of  stars  and  lidless  eyes  of  moon.    The  silver 
Stream   laughed  out  aloud  —  then   played   a 

song 

Keyed  high  upon  such  rippling  undercurrents, 
As  waked  the  fairies  from  the  bank  and  glen. 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  73 

Our  thoughts  were  written  on  the  velvet  sheen, 
And  through  the  fringes  of  the  forest  shone 
An  after-glow  which   crept  to  vibrant  har 
monies. 

O'er-hanging  shadows,  silent,  vast  and  fra 
grant 

With  perfumes,  wafted  strangely  near,  in  half- 
awed 

Dreamy  moods,  'mid  tangled  vines  and  brush: 
Above  the  shooting  stars  and  destined  spheres 
Were  strayed  in  limitless  oblivion. 

Carelessly  we  kissed  with  soft  caress, 
Our  spirits  gliding  from  tranquility, 
While  round  us  weaved  a  thousand  gentle 

forms, 
In  binding  chains  of  complex  passions  rife. 

The  dance  of  twin  lights  from  intensest  eyes, 
A  thought  suppressed  —  then  mingling  of  the 

breath, 
Glowing  and   glowing,   and  closer  and   still 

more  close - 

All  visions  lost  to  me  in  Happiness. 
Night's  silver  canopy  of  clouds  unrolled, 
Shredded  and  flown  adown  to  tree  tops  high; 
Then  whispered  Love  along  the  fretted  shore, 
From  o'er  the  waves  of  future  heritages. 


TRANSCENDENT  LOVE 

In  all  the  world,  the  greatest  thing  is  Love, 
Through  shadowed  sorrow  to  eternity  - 
A  touch  of  more  that  is,  and  e'er  shall  be, 
At  whose  Beyond  we  may  not  know,  but  feel 
Her  vestal  guardians  of  Happiness, 
Jeweled  arms  and  cymbals  held  aloft 
As  pagan  spirits  on  a  fairy  craft, 
Sail  crests  of  seas,  where  passions  ebb  and 

flow, 
In  rhythmic  tumult  of  unconscious  grace. 

Truth  drops  her  veil  before  the  wand  of  Love, 
As  the  flower  from  silken  petal  breaketh  forth 
In  dawning  glow  and  veins  of  liquid  fire, 
Magic,  amethystine,  rich  and  deep, 
In  forest  aisles  and  dancing  disks  of  sunlight: 
Then  whirlwinds  gulf  into  a  quietude, 
Upon  sweet  undercurrents,  mystic,  thin, 
That  bid  all  Nature  from  her  sleep  awake, 
To  sing  the  songs  which  only  Love  can  sing. 

By  disappointed  faith  and  fortune's  wrong, 
I  drop  anon  into  the  ebon  Past, 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  75 

O'er  some  far  silent  sea  I  never  knew 
To  roofs  in  Nineveh  and  Babylon. 
Above  the  stars  droop  jewel-wise,  as  velvet 
Water  lilies  breathe  their  argent  raptures 
In  the  night.    A-near  the  sands  of  a  desert 
Whirl  into  the  entrance  of  my  tent 
Delirious  mirage  of  pagan  Love. 

I   feel   her    black   curls   touch   me  —  scented 

zephyrs 

O'er  my  soul,  reversing  fate  on  fragrant 
Wings.    Chaldeans  girdled  in  vermilion - 
Eternal  spirit  of  the  woman  —  in  rippling 
Laughter  overflow  and  wound  each  other 
Unaware.     Night  to  dawn  lights  lengthen  — 
Concubines  in  robes  of  multicolor, 
Eyes  all  lustrous  in  consuming  gaze, 
Quaff  deeply  in  this  ancient  Cup  of  Bliss. 

If  anything  be  greater  than  the  gods, 

'Tis  Love!     She  dwells  in  Eden  still,  where 

ages 

Of  Eastern  Passion  made  her  hue,  and  taint 
less 

Lips  to  kiss  the  magic  hours  of 
All  Time  —  its  hurricanes  and  spectres  so 
Perplexed  adown  the  darkest  centuries, 
To  the  Asiatic  dawn  on  Calvary. 


76  Collected  Poems 

Awakened  now,  her  angels'  wings  are  seen 
Warm,  sunburnt,  beneath  the  Present  skies, 
In  touch  of  which  the  purest  spirits  meet 
And  Heaven  itself,  with  all  its  joys  brought 

near 
By  the  sound  in  trumpet  call  —  Transcendent 

Love. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE 

Love  came  triumphant  to  my  soul  last  night, 
As    music    breathes    from    Heaven's    noblest 

sphere  - 

A  tender,  careless,  acquiescent  flight, 
Mist-veiled  in  ringlets  of  a  thousand  curls. 
She  then,  I  know  well,  ends  the  world's  de 
spair, 

The  aching  loss  in  souls  from  deepest  pain 
To  ecstasy  of  love  and  Love's  great  ties- 
Her  joys,  her  quests,  and  sovereign  disdain, 
Dark  eyes,  ruby  lips,  and  teeth  of  pearls 
To  melting  words,  as  soft  as  summer's  air. 

The  yielding  sweet  expression  of  her  face, 
From  soft  converse  in  smiles,  to  love-gemmed 

tears 
Of  Passion  like  the  season,  wildered  heart  and 

place. 

I  gazed  and  gazed  again,  my  every  glance 
Like  lightning  on  her  brow:  brief  space  to 

years 
Weaved  in  her  treasured,  sun-gold  wondrous 

hair. 


78  Collected  Poems 

Listless  there,  dream-drowsy  in  a  perfumed 
trance 

Encircled  by  my  arms  lies  Love.  Sweet  sur 
render! 

A  maze  of  misty  flame  —  sun-splendor! 

'Tis  that,  I  know,  makes  all  the  world  so  fair. 

Soft-footed  Asiatics  trailed  this  Love, 

Greeks  ankleted,  in  gems  or  togas  bright; 

As  old  her  slaves  as  those  wrho  watch  above  — 

Peplum  purpling  and  rich  balconies  o'  night— 

Adown  the  winding  stairs  of  History. 

Mystery  —  strange,  sleep-swaying  scents  — 
through 

Lips,  rose-liquor  that  the  sphinxes  knew; 

Beauteous  eyes  and  cheeks  the  angels  have 
caressed, 

Hers  was  the  perfume  o'er  the  martyrs'  shrine; 

By  theme  and  song  her  tenderest  mood  ex 
pressed. 

Oh!  Past,  well  dost  thou  know  this  Love  of 
mine! 


MY  LOVE 

Dearest,  there  is  no  one  above  thee  that 

I  love!    That  is  my  answer  now  and  for 

All   time.     Remember  this   through  coming 

suns! 

Remember  this  before  our  Final  Judge! 
Before  the  treasure  He  has  given  us, 
To  mould  our  deeds  for  His  all  just  Assize. 

What  use  to  so  pretend  and  hide  the  truth? 
Thou  standest  to  me  alone  as  soul  is  joined  to 

soul, 

Heart,  brain,  body,  all  in  life  or  dream 
'Neath    paling    stars    and    singing   winds    at 

dawn, 
To  waving  plains  where   flame-like  flowers 

bloom, 
And  vanish  with  us  on  the  wings  of  night. 

Sweetest  eyes  that  I  have  ever  seen, 
Are  there  such  stars  in  all  the  firmament, 
Or  seas  more  conscious  of  such  wondrous  rays? 
Youthful  laughter,  fearless,  frank,  and  free! 


80  Collected  Poems 

Weeping  —  each  tear  is  but  a  gem  light'ning 
Skies  into  a  flame  of  everlasting  Day. 

Life  and  Death  agree  that  I  have  loved 
Thee,  in  those  farthest  ages,  where  Man  and 

Earth 
Were  still  the  Breath  of  God,  and  souls  were 

merely 

Vapors  in  a  Space  all  planetless. 
There  we  dreamed  of  fabled  lands  —  in  mystic 

chrism 
Plucked  Love  from  out  the  brighter  particles 

of  star-dust. 

Can  I  ply  my  feelings  as  I  think  of  thee- 
Earth  responding  to  a  heaven's  smile, 
A  halo  o'er  each  thought  in  blissful-setting — • 
Those  aches  of  partings,  or  that  thou  dost  suf 
fer 

For  a  moment  in  the  countless  ends 
That  call  me  from  thy  presence?     Oh!  loyal 
troth ! 

I  bless  thy  name,  thy  touch,  the  tender  ca 
dences 
Of    thy    voice  —  golden    harmonies  .in    the 

stresses 

' 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  81 

Of  Life's  Pain.    It  takes  courage  in  my  heart 

To  realize  that  thou  are  mine,  but  still, 

Still  greater  courage  to  know  that  thou  must 

leave 

Me  for  the  realms  of  unconjectured  space, 
A  dimming  land,  where  sad-eyed  ghosts  walk 

only. 
Thy  cheeks  to  snow  in  paling  Death,  those 

eyes 

Twin  urns  of  sleep,  thy  gorgeous-winged  soul, 
Like  some  strange  bird,  sweeps  up  in  silent 

flight 
To  waiting  angels  and  their  whispered  tales. 

Oh  love,  my  love!  In  thy  twilights  take  me, 

Bird  of  Death, 

To  her  that  makes  the  music  all  things  sing, 
O'er  time,  o'er  space,  o'er  height,  o'er  depth— 

beyond 
Unto  the  rich-crown  jeweled  seat  of  Paradise. 


LAST  NIGHT,  BELOVED! 

Last  night,  Beloved,  I  saw  thee  in  a  dream, 
With  tears  of  wistful  wonder  in  thine  eyes, 
Unfolded  petals,  pearled  with  silvery  sheen, 
All  tender,  mystic,  luminous  of  Love's  skies. 
Adown    from    stars    to    night-wrapt    hidden 

things, 

Thine  ebon  locks  and  breath,  like  incense- 
wings, 
In  soft  confusion  intertwined  my  soul. 

Deep  longing,  clinging  glance  to  tremorous 

roll, 

In  subtle  scents  of  Moorish  paradise, 
Strange  emotions,  frantic  mad  desire  — 
A  ray  of  bliss,  a  kiss  akin  to  fire! 
Then  all  my  secrets  grew  defined  in  shape, 
To  worship   thee,   for  just  great  Worship's 

sake. 

Closer  pressed  we  in  serene  ascension, 
Twining    hair,    alluring    arms,    in    blushing 

wake 
Up-burning  in  the  glowing  halls  of  Passion. 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  83 

Veined  rich  through  marble  tints  before  my 

sight, 

'Mid  shadows'  lengths  of  languor  unrestained, 
I  watched  thy  Beauty  yield  with  fond  delight. 
From  olden  years,  so  long  ago  now  waned, 
I  heard  thy  sweetest  music  —  e'er  unsate: 
Eternal  were  we  twain  therein  combined 
Through  space  afar  —  not  Time's,  but  Love's 

sublime. 


COULD  I  FORGET! 

Ah!    Could  my  wakening  spirit  but  forget 
The  pain,  the  pang,  and  wrong  and  vain  re 
gret 

That  fills  my  life's  horizon,  —  a  sense  of  wings 
A-rift  into  the  peerless  golden  cloud 
Of    Love;    her    mists    extinguished;    broken 

strings 
O'er  beauty  flesh  and  blood,  night-wrapt  and 

proud, 
Touched  with  the  jeweled  fingers  from  the 

sorrower's  arm; 

Nearer,  yet  nearer,  secret  sad  alarm, 
Thirsting  anguish,  chill  of  hopeless  grief, 
In  sunset  skies  where  daylight  now  hath  fled. 

Dumb  the  lips  and  breath  that  gave  relief, 

And  crowned  my  life  with  all  its  gentle  grace; 

Those  arms  that  softly  twined,  warm,  tur 
quoise  veined 

Around  me  —  such  hours  never  more  re 
gained! 

So  far  away  the  laughter,  song  and  glee, 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  85 

The  up-surge  in  the  world  tides  distraught 
Of  other  scenes  in  olden  days,  care  free, 
In  passion  measureless  —  trembling  caught 
Foam-flung,    'twixt    boundless    oceans    unre 
strained! 

So  tired  of  struggle,  stress,  strife  and  pain, — • 
As  back  the  shoreless  sea,  and  back  again 
Its  darkening  glens  and  half-concealed  things! 
The   numbing   fragrance   of   the   Past — her 

eyes 
Laid  on  me  with  the  weight  of  destinies! 

Love's  glow,  sweet  touch,  close-merging  soul 

embrace 
Brings  Heaven  itself,  with  all  its  joys  o'er 

head 

To  throbbing  whispers;  tender  heart-beats  set 
So  partly  human  but  more  part  divine. 
Ah!  Could  my  wakening  spirit  but  forget 
My  Love  now  dead,  but  once  so  wholly  mine! 


CONSUMMATION 

In  a  garden,  soul  to  soul  we  met  and  loved  — 
Listless  languor  by  stone-parapets, 
Leaf-dance  ripple,  sense  of  minor  thirds, 
Stars  above,  a  language  not  of  words; 
Vows  and  raptures  —  life's  sweetest  flowerets. 

Roving  minstrels  strolled  unto  the  feasts, 
Our  thoughts  upon  their  strings  in  tinselled 

air, 
To  woodlands  where  clove-footed  gods  had 

sung; 
Where  consenting  dear  Companionship  had 

rung 
From  bells  that  melted  tenderly  to  prayer. 

Afar  o'er  dale  translucent  waters  moved, 
Enthralling  sounds  through  sequence  of  the 

hours. 

I  was  the  Night  and  she  the  Moonlit-Glow, 
Her  curls  all  ill-arranged  and  veil  so  low, 
O'er  Passion  wakening  in  this  love  of  ours. 

I'm  still  the  Night  and  there's  the  Moonlit- 
Glow, 
But  as  I  see  her  ebb  in  Time's  great  sky, 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  87 

No  more  the  sweetness  of  her  love-wrung  ray. 
That  chaste  white  face  is  now  conjured  to 

clay 
Of  hardest  light.     Erewhile,  alone  am  I. 

With  crawlings  o'er  me,  numbness  in  the  air, 
Upon  my  throat,  my  breast,  my  arms,  my  hair, 
Gliding  skeletons  arise  to  sight 
In  elfish  weeds  and  wands  of  swirling  light  — 
The  horrors  of  a  Beauty  vilely  used, 
Staring,  ever  doomed  to  stare  —  such  hues 
Down-bending  Parasite  of  circumstance. 

Shimmering  procession  and  a  giddy  dance 
That  overcrests  the  pathway  of  the  clouds, 
Revels  nebulous,  that  cheat  the  days 
In  look  malign  and  cold  accusing  gaze; 
Silver  drooping  rays  of  compromise, 
False  most  gems  that  shine  beneath  the  stars; 
Phantasmagoria  and  a  soulless  glance, 
Waveless  waters  —  and  my  eyes  are  fed 
On   a   Moonlit-Glow:    'twere    better    Death 
would  wed. 


CONSOLATION 

I  watch  at  eve  thy  bright  inquisitive  eyes 
As  slowly  wane  the  twilight  hours  away, 
In  conquering  sense  and  tender  earthly  ties, 
To  mystic  night  bedewed  in  silver  ray. 
The  vine-leaf  shades  around  us — flower  to 

flower 
Sip  a  store  from  thyme  and  inmost  bower. 

Love  seems  abroad  and  all  of  thee  a  part 
In  murmurous  secrets  of  the  growing  night. 
I  feel  the  warm  blood  beat  about  my  heart, 
Like  waves  overflowing  summer  seas,  fleece- 
white 

Mist-thin  surge,  around  a  wrecked  ship's  beam 
From  off  whose  drooping  mast  past  sorrows 
gleam. 

There  let  those  billows  try  to  soften  doom; 
The  leaden  years  no  charms  can  ever  lift, 
But  sink  and  sink  with  Time  into  the  tomb, 
Crushed  thence  in  anguish,  echoes  of  my  Love 

adrift 

On  mimic  smiles,  false  joys  in  endless  quest 
That  only  Death  may  bring  at  last  to  rest. 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  89 

No!     No!     Why  think  of  that  with  thee  so 

near? 

Be  this  our  dwelling — this  pale  silent  night, 
Whose  walls  they  touch  not,  who  know  love 

less  dear. 

Some  bond  of  Nature  draws  me  to  this  light 
Of  a  thousand  thousand  petals  in  moon-eyed 

bliss, 
A  bed  of  roses  —  lilies  —  then  thy  kiss. 

How  can  it  matter  now  —  that  Love  of  mine, 
This    useless    pining    o'er    things    vanished, 

dead- 
A   Past  bereaved,  which  should  have  been 

divine 

In  custom  living,  side  by  side,  instead? 
To  deeply  love --'tis  never  to  be  sent 
Full  Consolation  —  e'en  for  an  hour  lent. 

Oh,  upstart  lips  that  speak  pretentious  lies 
'Mid  all  the  venom  of  a  warring  world, 
Your  kiss  is  but  a  touch  that  I  despise, 
So  near  the  Sorrow  of  those  sails  now  furled! 
Thy  face  is  hideous  in  the  silvered  light 
Of  a  Love  now  gone,  but  mine  —  all  mine,  by 
Right! 


90  Collected  Poems 

Come,  Sorrow,  let  us  hence  —  some  quiet  land, 

Burn  thy  noble  torch  and  bear  it  high; 

Feel  no  compunction  on  a  jasmine-scented 
sand, 

For  they  are  grain  on  which  all  loves  will  die. 

We  may  be  bruised  and  wrapped  in  suffo 
cating  pain, 

But  with  Honour,  Truth,  and  Destiny  not 
slain. 


I  OFTEN  THINK 

I  often  think,  were  I  to  die,  dear, 

To  sleep,  to  feel,  to  pray  there  in  that  Realm, 

So  far  away, 

Some  thrill  of  tender  sympathy, 
We  had  had,  or  dreamed,  or  known,  or  loved, 

We  two  alone, 

Would  startle,  then  recarry  me 
From  Exile  back  to  Life  again. 

I  often  think,  were  I  in  my  grave,  dear, 
Beneath  the  forest  deep  or  vine-clad  walls, 

Thine  eyes  in  grief 

Would  drop  seeds  of  such  sweet  sorrow 
That  my  heart  would  rise  —  break  into  a  rose, 

And  recognize 

Thy  tears  of  Love  upon  its  petals, 
As  the  richest  jewels  from  Paradise. 


LOVE'S  APPEAL 

In  vain,  in  vain,  I  try  to  tell  thee,  dear, 

My  love. 
I  choose  the  sweetest  words,  that  e'er  were  writ 

Above 
The  notes  of  cadenced  harmonies  to  thrill 

Thy  heart, — 
Attune  the  tend'rest  measures  of  my  soul 

Apart 

From  this  great  world  of  waste  and  pain,  so 
dreary, 

Dark 
With  hates  and  greeds  and  blaze  of  war. 

In  vain,  in  vain,  I  try  to  tell  thee,  dear, 

Through  tears 
That  drip  from  eyes  at  night,  wearied  and  sad 

With  fears 
That  thy  forgotten  love,  in  arms  rebelled 

May  die; 
Erewhile  when  ills  and  sorrows,  moist  regrets 

Are  nigh 
To  thee,  this  bleeding  heart  in  veins  of  Hate 

May  cry, 


Poems  of  Love  and  Passion  93 

In  memories  of  those  raptures,  vain  entreaties, 

Woes, 
Then  burn  itself  in  torturing  flames 'til  Death's 

Last  throes 

Will    quench    the   fire   that  once   was   Love 
divine. 


POEMS  OF  EGYPT,  ETC. 


THE  SPELL  OF  EGYPT 

There's  a  splendid  hush  about  this  place, — 
A  seal  upon  these  ancient  mysteries 
Of  Nile  and  star  and  Cleopatra's  face. 

O  mighty  Pyramid,  empurpled  in  thine 
Omnipotence!  Thou  art  not  the  work 
Of  mortal  man,  but  the  huge  Conception  of  a 

spirit 
Diadem'd  upon  the  Sand  of  Time. 

Mosques  with  your  passion  for  prayer, 
Sphinx  with  thy  passion  for  silence, 
Bazaars  with  your  passion  for  gain, 
Streets  with  your  passion  for  music 
And  pleasure  —  enter  ye  all  into  my  soul, 
That  I  may  feel  my  first  infiltration  of  anoth 
er  life. 

Egypt! 

Why  dost  thou  engrave  thyself 

So  strangely  on  the  tablets  of  my  mind? 

Dost  thou  channel  through  my  veins  to  gain  a 

dream 
Or  to  regain  lost  dreams  of  old? 


98  Collected  Poems 

Art  thou  here  to  help  me  lose  a  creeping  sor 
row, 

Or  to  recreate  in  me  the  rapturous  ecstasy  of 
bygone  passion ; 

Or  art  thou  present  merely  to  make  me  un 
derstand  the  treasures 

Of  Romance  and  of  History  that  breathe  with 
in  thy  bosom? 


DREAM  O'  NILE 

Egyptian  baccharis!    I  dream  a  dream 
Through  topaz  glow,   in  the  chalice  of  thy 

royal  mysteries : 

I  lay  o'er  barge  upon  the  Nile,  and  glean 
The  agony  of  thy  fading  centuries. 

A  fluttered  flight  with  eyes  wide  o'er  to  see, 
I  dropped  anon  into  entangling  twilights, 
Past  nymphs  in  gossamer  gowns  out-floating 

free, 

Where  other  forms  and  forces  try  to  solve 
The  laughter  in  thy  Labyrinths  —  the  silvered 

nights 

Around  thy  granite  temples,  —  thence  evolve 
To  gardens  flecked  with  robes  in  Ptolemys' 

rites. 

Adown  these  shimmering  mystic  paths  I 
walked ; 

To  painted  kings  and  jewelled  queens  I  talked, 

In  irised  chambers  of  old  revelry. 

I  sipped  from  cups  moulded  o'er  the  Chryso 
lite; 


IOO  Collected  Poems 

Played  hide  and  seek  with  rapturous  Aphro 
dite; 

Pressed  amorous  lips  and  caressive  breasts 
all  ivory. 

Nubians  with  flowers  and  with  peacock  fans, 
Adrift  is  Cleopatra  and  her  love-bought  bliss: 
The  jealous  moon  winks  back  her  tears  and 

wanes : 
The  queen  athirsts  for  power  in  the  Roman's 

kiss. 

Low  a  purple  lilac  o'er  the  Nile, 
Strangely  chill  the  sandy  winds  tonight; 
Richest  monuments  and  pylons  there  erewhile, 
And  cold  red  obelisks  of  dead  divinities; 
Satyrs  a-creep  from  out  the  Sphinx's  eyes,  and 

sight 
To  me  on  senseless  stones  great  Histories. 

Afar  to  Lybian  desert  a  lute  string  trilled. 
Drowned  by  the  winged  sweep  of  Basilisk; 
A-near  a  crocodile  the  air  in  terror  filled; 
Peered  o'er  the  banks  the  monster  Hippo- 
grifTs. 

I  saw  the  stars  all  trembling  in  the  heaven, 
Wan  wreaths  around  the  Monoliths  atwist: 


Poems  of  Egypt,  Etc.  101 

From  amber  foam  of  Nile  I  counted  seven, 
As  birds  flew  out  the  temples'  weary  glyphs. 

The  Pyramids  huge,  fiercely  black  in  hue, 
Stood  half  way  down  in  moonlit  silver  rayed,— 
Mighty  diadems  of  Ancients'  thew; 
Within    Sarcophagi    e'er    mummies'    sprites 

a-preyed. 
Hushed  and  silenced  by  the  splendor  of  this 

view, 

Struck  fear  dumb  I  —  my  Dream  O'  Nile  dis 
mayed. 

O  River,  sleep  swaying  scents  in  thy  wafted 

tresses, 
Past  vanished  —  all  away  thy  dynasties  "That 

Were," 

Same  are  thy  ways  and  still  thine  old  caresses: 
Souls  rise  and  rise  —  History  rests  upon  thy 

myrrh. 


TO  THE  SPHINX 

I  sat  at  eve  time  on  the  Lybian  sands, 

And  watched  Night's  shadows  creep  from  up 

the  Nile 

In  languorous  attitudes  for  Egypt's  rest. 
Above,  the  Sphinx  purred  o'er  the  dark-ning 

lands, 

Reaching  skyward  in  a  great  caress 
Across  the  Age  of  Mystery. 
I  rose  and  stood  beneath  a  Peristyle: 
She  stooped  and  pressed  me  there,  erewhile, 
Against  her  Breasts  of  History. 


FAREWELL,  O  EGYPT! 

The  pink-pearl  blush  of  dawn  crept  o'er  our 

barge 

And  Alexandria.     From  silver-fretted 
Night   'mid   shifting   glooms,    the   quivering 

palms 

Twisted  in  spirals  on  the  desert's  edge; 
The  moon  had  paled  and  drowsed  to  saffron 

dust; 
The  stars  now  closed  their  diamond  eyes  and 

wept, 
Then  fled  to  shelter  as  Day  touched  the  sky. 

O  Egypt,  sullen  gray,  supreme  in  Time! 
From  off  this  prow  thine  echoes  burst  in  flame, 
Lit  by  the  torch  of  History,  each  in  turn 
Full  in  the  arena  of  this  blood-stained  world. 
Still  from  shadoof  and  sakieh  rimmed  in  gold, 
Sing  this  dawn  to  us  thy  memories 
Of  archetypal  dreams  and  loveliness, 
Of  Ra,  and  Rameses  and  Basilisk; 
Of  Cleopatra  and  her  drones  a-bed 
Beneath  the  ambient  chambers  of  the  moon; 


104  Collected  Poems 

Of  Osiris,  Isis,  and  of  Antony, 
Palm-embroidered  from  patrician  Rome. 

Farewell  thy  Pyramids,  farewell  thy  Sphinx, 
Crouching  in  dead  desires  and  brooding  si 
lence; 

Farewell  terrific  temples  —  abysmal  lament 
From  a  by-gone  world  —  mysterious  tombs, 

despairs 

Of  all  the  perished  races  of  the  earth, 
Cased  in  mummies  or  in  water  sunk. 

Farewell  thy  lateen  sails  and  tiny  islands, 
Kissed  by  the  lips  of  Histories  away. 
Farewell  brown  children  of  the  curved  Nile, 
Your  hammocks,  floats,  your  crocodile,  your 

songs, 

Your  prattling  truths  and  dreams  in  dynasty 
Of  Griffins  twain  and  jewelled  wine  betwixt. 

Farewell  the  patter  of  the  donkey's  feet, 
A-near  the  dragomen  and  drab  bazaar. 
Farewell  snake  charmers  and  thy  courtesans, 
With   crystal   breasts   and  eyelids   powdered 

blue 

'Mid  writhes  and  twists  of  teeming  populace. 
Farewell     thine     Obelisks — thy     sands     of 

Ghizeh, 


Poems  of  Egypt,  Etc.  105 

Thy  hieroglyphics  and  thy  prophecies, 
Thy  minarets  and  mosques  in  sunset  prayer: 
Farewell  immortal,  sad,  O  sacred  Egypt, 
Phantasmagoria  of  a  world  that's  dead, 
Yet  diviner  thou  —  through  every  century. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  MADEIRA 

Each  eve  I  lie  a-musing  on  Madeira's  hills, 

Erewhile  below  the  sea-tales  full  of  mystery: 

The  Life  that  was  my  Love  has  flown  o'er 
waves  and  rills, 

Into  the  jeweled  shrine  of  God's  Eternity. 

By  night  and  day  she  sleeps  here  in  a  church 
yard,  features  cold 

Beneath  the  sable  robes  of  Death,  —  immortal 
Beauty 

Majestic  sweet,  —  all  gleams  of  earthly  glories 
rolled 

In  long-lost  loves,  to  sacred  greater  purity. 

From  purple  domes  and  stately  towers,  Fun- 
chal's  sunlight 

Gilds  her  grave  in  saffron  garb;  flowers,  half- 
hidden 

In  the  mosses  green,  fleck  our  lore  of  love 
laden 

With  the  rarest  dew  of  Paradise.  Disguised 
at  night 

In  mazes,  opal,  iridescent  and  benign, 


Poems  of  Egypt,  Etc.  107 

These  petals  peer  —  a  nest  of  glow-worms  - 

o'er  her  mound, 
Whispering  the   saddest   requiem   of   human 

kind. 

Suddenly  towards  moon-rise,  deep  slumbers 

all  around, 
In  grieving  winds  and  ebbing  tides  suffused 

with  tears, 

Came  the  fairest  angel,  poised  in  flowery 
Wings    and    draperies    'round   her   drooping 

low;  background 

An  architrave  with  higher  temple  front,  subtly 
Wrought  in   flaunted   lace   and  silver  tinted 

vine. 
The  thinnest  veil  obscured  her  face:  nearer 

she  drew 
And   gazed;    in   radiance   stooped   as   mortal 

maid ;  entwined 
My  neck,  caressed  my  cheek,  then  kissed  my 

lips  —  a  chaste 
Sweet  kiss,  soft  and  warm  and  thrilled  with 

life.     Her  face 
She  turned,  then  slipped  away  as  adown  the 

brighter  circle  of  the  moon 
A   chariot   appeared:    she    rose   from   sylvan 

hill. 


io8  Collected  Poems 

Too  soon 
Are  nimble  joys  of  youth  by  newer  sorrows 

rent, 
As  dark  processions  dissolve  a  dream  from 

Heaven,  sent 
To  awake  o'er  the  myrtle  grave  Time  alone 

has  lent. 


ALGIERS 

Gold-vestured  suns  and  silver-fretted  nights 
O'er  Algiers  —  Allah's  sonnet  in  the  tongue  of 

France, 

Afric  Paris,  frenetic  with  the  Marabout, 
A-pointed  columns  in  the  air, 
First  languors  of  the  East  and  fair 
With    bright    illusions,    flecked    enkindling 

sights, 
Mosques  and  kiosks  —  harlots  thro'  yakmak 

a-glance, 
Polyglot  zig-zagging  streets  to  turbaned  rue! 

O    Sensuous    city!     How    subtly   weird    thy 

spell! 
Background,    translucent   sea    of    dreamland 

blue; 

Thy  minarets  in  tapers  to  the  sky; 
Bedouin  inns  and  clanking  dice, 
Cythereas,  drab  dancing  girls  to  tice 
The  dragomans,  gendarmes  and  rake-hell; 
Thy  turquoise  noons  to  twilight  bronze  imbue 
Thro'  architraves,  thy  villas  laced  to  gardens 

high. 


no  Collected  Poems 

Topaz  yellowing  to  sunset  crimsoning, 

Gilded  muezzins  call  the  prayer, 

Down-floating  magic  in  the  air 

O'er  mosques  nestled  into  moonlight  silvering. 

Fair  Southern  Cross  a-trembling, 

An  irised  mystic  quivering 

To  strange  emotions  soothing, 

A  distant  cry  and  droning, 

A  castanet  a-clanging 

Algiers!  —  inch'  Allah!  —  sleeping! 


WAR  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


A  SOLDIER'S  FAREWELL 

Beloved,  farewell!     'Tis  an  ancient  tale  this 

call 

To  arms  —  the  grappling  will  of  man  to  War, 
The  mind  to  mingle  in  a  sense  of  massacre, 
To  reek  with  blood  and  clamor  for  destruc 
tion; 

The  earth  a  wilderness  of  steel  to  cut, 
Deface,  ensnare,  destroy  antiquity  - 
The  sanctuaries  of  the  silenced  centuries. 

It  must  be  so,  Beloved.     Yet,  O  my  God! 
To  burn  thy  suffering  away  to  ashes, 
Rather  far  those  Rhenish  Huns  should  lay 
Me  low  in  quailing  flesh,  —  the  world  a  heri 
tage 

Of  woe,  and  fiercest  emphasis  of  rage 
O'erride  the  greatest  cities  of  heroic 
Dawns,   and  scourge  the  fields  with  wildest 

carnage, 

Than  the  vision  of  this  pain  aglitter  in  thine 
eyes. 


114  Collected  Poems 

Beloved,   weep    not — think  more   of   gentle 

hands 

To  soothe  the  ache  of  centuries  into 
The  intercourse  of  everlasting  love, 
Our  marriage  here  in  sunset  waning —  thy  sad 
Possession's  but  a  memory  —  until 
The  holy  years  of  undivided  souls 
Wake  fragrance  in  the  rain  of  Paradise. 

Each  dawn  bear  to  thee  sweeter  strengths,  soft 

fires 

Of  faith,  to  curl  in  incense  o'er  the  shores 
Of  Time  —  griefs  in  angels'  voices  ending, 
Through  the  flowering  fields  and  singing  stars, 

that  pulse 
The  arteries  of  God's  transcendent  mercy. 

In  thy  days  of  coming  solitude,  thy  hair 
Shall   \veave    in    silver,    thy   face   empale   to 

Death, 

Ending  surface  things  but  to  receive 
Their  impress  final  —  touchings  unawares, — 
Immortal  kisses  in  eternity. 

Awake  our  France!  At  last  thy  time  has  come 
To  make  a  fiery  trial  of  thy  great  strength. 
For  forty  years,  thou  hast  abided  in 
A  dreadful  patience  for  this  day,  weeping 


War  and  Miscellaneous  Poems       115 

And  waiting  —  stung  beyond  commiseration 
Thy    people's    memory — thy   vengeance    for 
Sedan. 

God  stands  surety  for  thee  in  Heaven, 
As  the  glitter  of  thine  armour  mirrors  Hell 
For  those  who  dare  oppose  thy  legions  now. 
Show  thine  imperial  strength  and  sovereign 

power; 

Beneath  the  stillness  of  these  stars,  thy  fury 
Breathes    intense    to    beckon    death    in    royal 

honour. 

A  splendid  oneness  in  thy  politics, 
There's  no  alarm  and  anguish  in  thy  tread, 
Friedland  and  Austerlitz  age-long  thy  wit 
nesses. 

Revenge  our  France!     That  sting — thy  vic 
tory  hence! 

Farewell,  farewell,  our  little  cottage  in 

The   sheltering  green!     Farewell,   my  wife! 

thy  soul 

My  rose  upon  the  battle-plain  —  each  wound 
A  petal  on  the  bleeding  stem  decreed 
To  flower  in  Immortality. 


VICTOR JOFFRE! 

The    summers    night    was    falling   o'er    the 

Marne, 

In  war-like  visage  scenes  of  darkest  hue. 
The  ancient  river  waileth  with  a  charm, 
Reflecting,  blaze  on  blaze,  the  fiery  view 
Of  thousands,  by  the  millions  ranged  to  fight 
In  empty  groves  and  sanctuaries  red 
With  blood.     Paris  waited  in  her  plight, 
Patient,  all  majestic,  calm  and  splendid, 
Through   those  maddening  hours  of  uncer 
tainty. 

Earth  and  Hell  in  masterful  embrace, 
Amazed  all  mortal  birth.    Anxiety 
Upon  a  seat  supreme,  watched — her  face 
Withered  in  the  loud  discordant  deep, 
Profoundly  changing  from  ideal  to  doubt, 
As  goring  engines  shrieked  and  crushed  and 
reaped. 

Men  and  horses'  armour  interlaced, 
Cursing,  creeping,  swimming,  wading,  sink 
ing, 


War  and  Miscellaneous  Poems          117 

With   heads   all   skull-like  —  voices   all   con 
fused, 

O'er  torsos,  scaled  fingers  gory  joining. 
A  distant  crash,  to  carnage  and  to  strife 
Beneath  the  trembling  light  of  pallid  moon, 
Where  ages  past  were  masked,  then  brought  to 

life 

A  double  range  of  horrors  there  exhumed. 
The  shades  of  kings  like  Attila  arise 
In  ruddy  reflex  'cross  his  Chalon-plain, 
Where  nights  exaggerate  the  giant  size 
Of  human  shapes,  and  mustering  ranks  aflame, 
From  phantoms'  charnel  house  to  warriors', 
shout. 

A-sudden  midst  these  teeming  Hellish  eyes, 

A  central  figure  stood;  said  "Turn  about!" 

And  drew  himself  in  profile  terrible, 

As  fortune  swelled  and  swayed  to  coming  rout 

Uncertain  still,  for  victory  horrible. 

Those  words  instant  were  mightier  than  arms, 

For  whose  command   in   fire  grand   France 

awoke 
Transfused    in    bloody    wreaths,    and    deep 

alarms 
That  echoed  forth  to  Heaven.     His  legions 

broke 


Ii8  Collected  Poems 

Upon    the   Hun  —  pursued   and  vanquished, 

gulfed 
In  Chaos.     There  calm  and  stern,  stood  — 

Victor  JofTre. 


OUR  FLAG  IN  THE  DESERT 

A  piastre,  O  night!  for  a  crust  of  mirth 
'Mid  sorrow,  plight,  and  war  grown  salutary. 
A  piastre,  O  moon!  thou  withered  dame  of 

lustrous 

Ray,  for  the  swooning  tresses  of  youthful  fire 
That  teemed  like  the  skins  of  snakes  in  gold. 
A  piastre,  O  stars!  with  the  lidless  eyes  for 

your  lights 
Of  love,  and  gleams  of  prayer  and  joys  that 

curled 
In  the  children's  hair,  in  the  dreams  of  youth 

'mid  the  things 
That  lived  to  the  wrhir  of  the  things  that  are. 

A  piastre,  O  desert!  with  thy  sandy  floor, 
With  thy  blasting  blizzard  and  caravan, 
For  the  Wizard  of  Peace,  though  his  eyes  are 

dimmed 

In  the  blazing  and  streaming  of  war; 
For  there's  a  Flag  with  Stars  on  thy  cold  grey 

face 
And    Stripes    interweaving    to    strangle    old 

Mars. 


120  Collected  Poems 

A  piastre,  O  night!  stars,  desert,  and  moon! 

Soon  kissed  by  these  colours  that  wave  in  far 
lands,  - 

France,  Belgium,  Italia,  and  Egypt,  —  per 
chance 

The  Oasis  of  Peace  will  rise  there  in  the  sands. 


LIFE'S  FALLACY 

All  seeming  hollow,  all  thy  joys  are  naught! 
When  deem'st  thou  fortune  is  within  thy  hand, 
Its  golden  wings  and  heralds  athwart  thy  way, 
The  lowlier  bed  of  sickness  yawns  for  thee : 
The  House  of  Death  cannot  be  bought  with 
wealth. 

The  lamps  of  honour  are  pretentious  lights, 
But  darken  quickly  in  the  vicious  Draught. 
Pledge  a  piastre  for  the  truth  of  this,  - 
With  joys  thou  hast  thy  friends  in  webs, 
With  griefs  thou  weavest  alone  in  heart. 


WHERE  FLOWN,  O  PEACE? 

O  Peace,  that  lies  within  Beloved  Arms 
Of  Fate,  part  of  whose  Will  we  are, 
In  a  world  of  Chaos  stumbling,  yearning  for 
Thy  throbs  of  Joy  and  Light.     'Tis  vain  this 

badge 
Of  blood,  this  vengeance,  storm,  and  plague 

that  bind 

And  strike  thy  sons  to-day,  red  spurting  out 
Of  orphaned  mouths,  while  fiends  and  furies 

rush 
To  make  a  Hell-Home  in  the  Dreams  of  God. 

Where  flown,  O  Peace,  'mid  voiceless  echoes 
crying 

"Dead  and  dead!"  -these  denizens  and  soul 
less  shapes 

And  torpors,  tombstones  gaunt  and  white 

That  empty  Future  of  all  heritages? 

Where  art  thou  'mid  this  burn  and  waste 
'neath  heavens 

Deaf  to  anguished  cries  lock-lipped  and  rid 
ing 


War  and  Miscellaneous  Poems          123 

To  o'er  conquer  Time?    Where  art  thou  on 
That  boundless  sea,  that  Life's  great  vessels 

sailed 

Before  the  winds  of  calm  Intelligence? 
Where  lost  thine  anchor  in  this  seething  surf 
Of  warring  men,  that  beat  a  phantomed  air 
Of  lacerated  souls  and  mangled  hearts? 

Where  flown  thy  flowers,  dells,  and  rippling 
laughter, 

Thy  warbling  birds  and  dancing  children's 
feet? 

Where  are  thy  clustering  vines,  thy  hamlets 
astir 

With  valiant  knights,  half-dreaming  over  Na 
ture's 

Fields,  thy  lakes  that  dazzled  beneath  the  sky 

Along  whose  shores,  in  fragrance  full  of  dam 
ask-rose, 

White-winged  swans  made  cradle  of  the 
waves? 

Surely,  Great  Peace,  thou  hast  not  left  the 

earth, 

Her  domes  and  palaces  so  bathed  in  red, 
Which  once  thy  touch  of  love  and  genius  lent! 
Return  Environment  with  clarion  note 


124  Collected  Poems 

And  hurl  these  Shades  from  off  thy  chiseled 

brow 

That  rive  thy  body  and  thy  soul  apart. 
Cities,  rivers,  mountains  veined  in  blood! 
Battlefields  and  prisons  reeked  in  gore! 
Grinning  skeletons,  dead  in  Ambition's  shriek! 
Morbid  Mirror!  feasting  in  curses  and  with 
Burning  brow  —  hide   thy   scarlet   furrowed 

face! 
Where  flown,  O  Peace? 

Sweet  Halo,  come  and  break 
Yon  smile  of  iron  lips  nightmared  from  out 
the  mouth  of  Hell. 


TO  MY  FATHER 

I  kneel,  my  father,  here  beside  thy  grave 
Of  tender  careless  myrtle,  grown 
In  the  setting  suns  of  five  and  twenty  years 
Now  past  forevermore,  from  this  sad  earth; 
My   mind   still    full   of   thee,   therefore   still 
noble. 

Could  words  express  the  story  I've  to  tell  thee 
Of  this  my  life,  or  what  I've  left  to  live? 
Shut  not  thy  soul  against  thy  son's  appeal, 
When  all  this  world  to-day  cries  out  so  loud; 
But  as  thou  art  my  godlike  father  still, 
And  wouldst  have  me  come  to  a  life  as  thine - 
Listen  with  tender  fondness  on  my  sorrows: 
Then  from  those  eyes  that  I  did  worship  so, 
Let  fall  some  tears  of  pity  and  of  love, 
Wounded  a  little,  by  the  sufferings  I  relate  — 
Of  unregarded  oaths  and  trusts  so  broken 
In  lies,  hypocrisies,  and  frailties 
Of  womanhood  —  its  rotting  weeds  and  brok 
en  boughs, 

Though    sacraments    and    faithfulness    were 
pledged; 


126  Collected  Poems 

The  blind  progression  and  reverse  result 
On  this  vile  earth  of  war,  —  the  petty  jangling 
For  everlasting  fames  and  shameless  prides. 

Life,  ask  life  —  'tis  wretchedness  and  poverty 
To  breathe  e'en  for  a  few  years  longer  here! 
Thou  who  wert  so  faithful,  generous,  valiant, 
Just  look  upon  me  with  thine  eyes  of  mercy, 
Although  they  ache  with  gazing  here  from 

Heaven  — 

And  tell  me,  tell  me,  in  surety  the  truth! 
There  are  no  days  accursed  as  these  apart, 
Where  thou  my  father  with  the  angels  art. 


TIME 

O  sacred  Time!  forever  lost 

On  rapid  wings 
Of  wasted  days  and  careless  years. 

All  tender  things, 

Thy  proffered  joys  and  truths  have  crossed 
The  stream  of  youthful  arts,  while  tears 
Now  drip  upon  the  cheeks  of  age 

By  Fate  assigned. 
With  waves  of  woes  and  crests  of  rage, 

Despair's  ensigns 
Are  sicklied  o'er  by  memories  bright, 

Then  dashed,  confined 
By  Hopelessness  to  night. 


DEATH 

Death!  is  it  thou  whom  bravest  souls  do  fear 
With  direst  awe?     Art  thou  that  storm  on 

Time's 

Foam-fretted  shore  that  launches  spirits  to 
Eternity?     Art  thou  that  tempest  in 
The  sea  of  Life  blowing  forthwith  a  wind 
In  thunderbolts  that  shakes  again   Creation 

back 

To  its  original  atoms?     Death  —  to  cease 
To  be;  life's  wits  end  in  consternation 
O'er  not  being  what  we've  been  before; 
Where  all  that's  past  is  lost  and  being  past 
Was  lost  the  instant  we  did  live.     Death  — 
A  moment's  work  disguised  through  years  of 

fear  — 

The  folly  of  it!  losing  blood  by  drops 
From  passioning  veins  but  lowlier  clay  withal. 
This  fearing  death  disquiets  all  the  rests 
Of  life  in  these  our  fleshly  prisons, 
Reviving,  creeping  to  calamity. 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  DREAM 
A  Dramatic  Poem 


THE  IRISHMAN'S  DREAM 
A  Dramatic  Poem  in  Two  Scenes 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

SIR  ROGER  BURKE  An  Irish  Patriot 

LADY  GLORIA  His  Wife 

TIME  —  Autumn,  A.  D.  1916 

PLACE  —  London 
SCENE  i : 

A  prison  cell  in  the  Tower  of  London.  A 
window  strongly  barred  letting  in  a  flood 
of  moonlight.  Perfect  quiet  save  for  the 
pacing  back  and  forth  of  the  heavy  prison 
guard. 

[Enter  LADY  GLORIA,  attired  in  deep  black  - 
hair  all  disheveled. 

SIR  ROGER  BURKE  rises  from  his  couch,  throws 
his  arms  about  his  wife  and  kisses  her  pas 
sionately.^ 

BURKE   (tenderly). 

Gloria!     Gloria!     With   thee  here   this 

very  pit 
Is  glorious! 


132  Collected  Poems 

GLORIA. 

Life  has  no  more  in  it  but  thee. 
BURKE. 

This   amorous  night  —  at  least  we  will 

procure 
Our  purpose,  all  rejoicing  in  our  joy. 

GLORIA. 

Many  days  more! 

BURKE. 

Alas,  no  more! 
GLORIA. 

Why? 

BURKE  (slowly  releasing  her). 
No  one  can  save  me,  Gloria. 

GLORIA. 

I  begin  to  see  amid  this  gloom.     Speak 
plainly. 

BURKE. 

I'm  strong,  yet  cannot  at  this  moment 
feel  it. 

GLORIA. 

I  shut  my  eyes  again,  my  love!  my  love! 

BURKE. 

How  beautiful  thou  seemest  in  this  light, 
Like  a  miser  do  I  kiss  those  tears  away. 


The  Irishman's  Dream  133 

GLORIA. 

My  flesh  anticipates  thy  fate;  tell  it  me. 

BURKE  (bitterly). 

Hear!    The  appeal  is  lost,  the  Crown  has 

spoken  - 
From  hence  this  Tower  tomorrow  morn 

-a  traitor 

Fm  condemned  to  die.     Perhaps  a  great 
Decree  for  history  —  though  pitiful 
It  seems  to  us,  abridged  in  the  pain  of 
parting. 

GLORIA   (vehemently). 

Quickly — is  there  aught  wherein  I  still 
can  serve  thee? 

I  reckoned  not  my  husband  to  this  law. 

Upon  thy  soul  there  is  no  stain  transmit 
ted. 

BURKE. 

'Tis  true,  my  heart,  as  tender  moon  shines 

on 
Thy  tumbled  hair. 

GLORIA. 

Oh!   Base  adversities! 
Your  British  gold  —  and  painted  justice 
blind! 


134  Collected  Poems 

BURKE. 

To  leave  the  sweet  and  music  of  our  lives, 
The  countings  on  long  years  for  pleasure 

here; 
Those  hills  we  loved,  and  meads  a-trem- 

bling  with  the  dew; 
The  waking  daffodils  and  the  languid 

note  of  birds! 

It  seems  so  far  away,  —  the  ribboned  light 
Of   Erin's  golden   dawns,   the  streamlet 

frail  and  sheen 
That   wafted    a-near    our   little    cottage 

down 

To  the  great  white  surges.    We  stood  to 
gether  beneath 
The  morning  star  —  its  magic  through  a 

thousand  rills: 
We  laughed  out  o'er  the  riches  of  our 

garden. 

GLORIA  (through  her  tears). 

Aye!   Thou  a  fawn  and  I,  a  woodland 
nymph. 

BURKE. 

The  call  of  day  came  basking  clear  and 
free. 


The  Irishman's  Dream  135 

GLORIA  (sadly). 

Cold    death   and   withered   wreaths,    all 

shadows  now. 
(With  sudden  fury) 

Such  crafts  of  law  seduced  to  such  ends! 
Is  reason  here  so  mightily  corrupted? 
Frank  justice  dwells  within  our  blood - 

that  blood 
Once  spilled,  is  clotted  on  unequal  scales. 

BURKE  (bitterly). 

The  ghosts  here  in  this  Tower  mock  my 

fate: 
The  cries  of  Edward's  babes  a-freeze  my 

veins. 

GLORIA. 

They  wink  at  crime,  who  execute  true 

valour. 
Still  living  —  hope  is  not  forsaken.    Are 

there 
No  ways  to  charm  the  hearts  of  Courts? 

O  God! 

BURKE  (passionately  drawing  her  to  him). 
Thy  tearful  eyes  and  drooping  breasts  — 
Beloved, 


136  Collected  Poems 

E'er  my  day-dawn   at   Creation   turned 

from  stars, 
Anon  thou  wert  the  dusk  and  twilight  of 

my  soul, 

All  renewing,  interposing,  never 
Ending.    I  clasp  thee  close  in  sacred  fire. 
High!    High!    Love's  crystal  cups  filled 

rim  to  rim, 
I  sense  a  thirst  for  life  —  more  life  —  still 

more! 

GLORIA  (raising  her  eyes). 

Thy  kiss  —  again  bewildered  —  there's 
nothing  clear! 

BURKE. 

And  yet  to  die  for  Ireland,  —  sweet  sac 
rifice! 

GLORIA  (proudly). 

A  crown  of  Honour,  aye,  I  see  thy  thought. 

BURKE. 

And  feel  the  flame  of  courage  in  thy 
breath; 

111  phrased  our  sorrow  in  that  great  de 
clension. 


The  Irishman's  Dream  137 

GLORIA. 

To  heal  the  breach  and  woe  of  her  great 
wrongs. 

BURKE. 

I  will  unloose  them  with  my  hands  in 

death, 
To  stir  those  wounds  in  flashing  brands  of 

steel. 

GLORIA  ('with  great  patriotism). 

Oh!  Let  them  echo  to  the  limits  of 
The  world  and  farthest  isles,  founded  on 
Our  people's  mighty  lore.    With  due 
Allegiance,  I'll  keep  that  ancient  faith 
Until   her  freedom   from   this  yoke  has 
been  attained. 

BURKE  (sorrowfully). 

And  yet,  my  wife,  to  die  —  to  leave  thee 

here 

Alone!    The  vision  shakes  into  me  a  soul 
Whose  essence  is  all  cowardice. 
(Starting  to  walk  to  and  fro] 
Recast  thy  splendour,  life,  eye  to  eye! 

GLORIA. 

How  can  we  part? 


138  Collected  Poems 

BURKE. 

Whither  wander  down? 
Where  are  my  friends,  where  are  my  flat 
terers  now? 

This  Stygian  river  roaring  o'er  my  soul, 
Is  there  one  who  would  come  forth  and 

share  this  fee? 

Ha!  Ha!  We're  craven  if  we  believe  it. 
Smile  away  that  trust,  or  speak  it  softly, 
Such  faith  is  naught  within  man's  selfish 
lust. 

GLORIA  (embracing  him  wildly}. 

I  cry  out  for  delay  —  and  for  thy  life! 
(A  pause  as  he  holds  her  to  him) 

BURKE  (sneeringly). 

Life,  this  thing — subjection,  we  call  be 
ing; 

Why  is  it  so  sweet  to  us?    Swiftest 
Minutes  winged  on  to  Pain  and  Sorrow, 
Sickness,  anger,  grief,  suspicion,  woe- 
Dream  that  Time  is  naught  and  life  is 
not  to  be. 

GLORIA  (softly). 
My  husband! 


The  Irishman's  Dream  139 

BURKE. 

Life,  mere  thoughts  of  loss 

and  gain, 
Unctuous  vapors  in  a  wandering  fire! 

(Intensely) 

List  my  prayer  and  heed  this  warning, 

now 
I  go.     If  thou  wouldst  contemplate  thy 

frank 
Estate,  think  not  thou  hast  a  friend  who 

boasts 

It  to  thee  in  thy  fortune's  hour.    The  eyes 
O'er  gilded  thrones  are  false,  as  those  are 

true 

That  peer  from  up  the  lowly  dust.    He  is 
Thy  friend  who  speaks  to  thee  and  offers 

aid 
Uncalled  and  humbly,  in  thy  misery. 

GLORIA  (kissing  him). 

For  me  —  there  is  no  friend  but  Death! 

BURKE  (dreamily). 

Thy  hair, 

Beloved,  for  centuries  has  drunk  the  sun, 
A  flame  of  ebony  in  farthest  ages. 
I  feel  the  sharp  savors  of  a  distant  past, 


140  Collected  Poems 

Our  souls  as  in  the  heavens  there  en 
sphered, 

And  all  the  sky  is  flecked  with  magic 
light  - 

Mirth  mirrors  crested  with  our  Babylon 
passion, 

Fountains  plashing  in  the  Hanging  Gar 
dens, 

The  Euphrates  level  through  a  burnished 
plain; 

Flower  crowned  and  girdled  thou,  in 
golden 

Gauzes  from  the  feasts.  We  sat  'neath 
veiled 

Moon  those  rhythmic  nights  to  sate  our 
love. 

(Relaxes  suddenly  and  points  to  the 
walls.} 

Here,  —  this   black   abyss,    these   oozing 

crevices, 
Our  flame  of  faith  that  goes  out  for  this 

cause, 

More  awful  is  the  silence  of  it  all. 
This  business  o'er  —  these  traders  in  the 

dark- 
Thou  shalt  feel  my  spirit  still  with  thee, 


The  Irishman's  Dream  141 

To  glide  henceforth  a  shadow  in  our 
home. 

GLORIA. 

Take  me!  Take  me!  Thine  I  am  in  body 
And   in   soul  —  else   sundered   from   the 
world. 

BURKE. 

Hush!  The  guard  —  thou  needst  not  go 
this  moment. 

(Continues  wildly) 

Death!     The  glister  of  eternity 

And  unknown  tangles!  I  cannot  —  will 
not  cease! 

To  stop  this  blood  all  passioning  in  my 
veins, 

The  blast  of  dreaded  winds  in  night's 
dark  orbs; 

Suspense,  a  tingling  stillness,  crash  and 
cry! 

Back,  back  again  to  dust — a- dismal 
grave, 

A  core  in  slime  to  feed  the  vermin  of 

The  earth!  Bait  unto  the  hook  of  Na 
ture's 

Great  Oblivion,  reeled  anon 


142  Collected  Poems 

Into  a  blackness  without  bound,  to  meet 
With  Chaos,  Anguish,  and  with  Time  — 

timeless 

Time  —  to  scope  the  tenor  of  eternity; 
An  alien  in  the  multitude  of  spheres, 
A  great  sun  dark'ning  in  a  heaven  —  my 

shout 

Of  terror  delivered  to  the  stars;  gongs 
And    hammers    in    the    tideless    ring   of 

Space 

Each  minute  beating  in  a  bell  of  fear, 
The  thesis  of  our  immortality! 
O  God!  is  this  thy  trap  for  human  souls? 

GLORIA. 

Lost!     Lost!     My  noble  lord,  let  me  die 

anon  upon 
Thy  breast — proof  of  perfect  love  all 

shared. 

\Sudden  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  roar 
of  rolling  thunder.  The  stage  is  totally 
darkened  for  a  period  of  about  four  min 
ute  sJ] 

PLACE  —  Ireland 
SCENE  2 : 

In  Sir  Roger's  country  villa.      Cosy  bed 
room   radiant   with    early   morning  sun- 


The  Irishman's  Dream  143 

light,  and  glimpsed  in  the  background 
verdant  Irish  plain.  Sir  Roger  is  seen 
awakening  from  a  deep  sleep.  He  sits 
up  and  in  a  startled  tone  speaks  to  Gloria, 
lying  peacefully  by  his  side. 

BURKE. 

No!  No!  (GLORIA  awakes.}  'Twas  a 
dream  —  a  wave  on  a  roaring  shore, 

To  break  in  calm  upon  our  coming 
days,- 

Gold-crested  hills  of  Ireland,  magic  main, 

Frail  streamlet  rippling  to  the  saffron 
sea. 

Come!  Love  is  pledged  eternal  in  yon 
goodly  gift  (pointing  to  a  framed  man 
uscript]  , 

The  pardon  of  our  king  there  hanging  on 
the  wall. 

Kiss  me,  Gloria,  that  I  may  know  my 
self. 

With  thy  caress  the  sweetest  morning 
dawns 

In  melody  of  lifted  voices  blest. 

Those  silken  arms  around  my  shoulders 
throw! 

(She  embraces,  then  kisses  him.) 
CURTAIN 


OVERDUE- 


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